Kill Me
by Femina Serpens
Summary: Potter's dead. Voldemort reigns supreme. Three years of evasion, living in shadows or gutters with her only friend, and Hermione Granger has no fight in her left when she's caught by her enemies alone; ready and willing to die. Under orders, Draco must find the secret and spirit to build her up...so he can tear her back down again. They are strong, but love is evil. AU. Graphic.
1. Capture

**_Warning: Mature language and themes are included in this. Physical violence, and possible sexual descriptions may trigger those who are squeamish.  
_**

**_Hermione is out of her mind, she's lost her sanity. And therefore, is not entirely herself for most of this. Draco is selfish, and more despicable than you probably want him to be._**

**_If you don't like it, don't read it.  
If you can't handle a downtrodden heroine, or a cold-blooded fiend, this is not the fic for you.  
_**

**__****_ Sometimes the villains win. And with that triumph creates ugly _****__****_possibilities that desecrate and change the very nature of the ones we once loved, turning them helpless._**

**_xox_**

* * *

_What if Harry _had_ died when he was ready to let himself?  
What if Dumbledore had been wrong; the seventh Horcrux theory a hoax? The greatest sacrifice our hero would and could make surely failing everyone and damning them forever._

_Lord Voldemort would have won the war, and so much more from the single mistake.  
Complete control of everything in arms reach in the UK, only a matter of time it would be before it spreads._

_More importantly, what would have happened in response to his death? Where would Hermione or Ron go? What would happen to the Ministry, the Muggles, or Hogwarts? How would the Death Eaters choose to rule and would the rest give in once they decided? Could anyone fight anymore knowing it was fruitless, death imminent under a serpent's gaze?_

_You must comply to reap the rewards.  
To the victor goes the spoils._

_ {}_

"Bring her in."

The focus was drawn to thudding footsteps as a solitary man dragged the pale body into the centre of the ring. Heavy breaths, nervous ticks, and shaking legs were all noticeable features of the group included in this morbid celebration. _Three years _they had scoured the country and further to find her, and now in their grasp she lay. As her bones smacked the floor, the shove she was given quite hard, the sound reverberated into the silence.

The infamous mudblood, noted for her strong-tempered will and wit, didn't appear to live up to her namesake. Stroking the patches of stubble on his chin, her capturer wondered if she'd long given up any hope of escaping here alive. Wand snapped and in a home full of enemies, that prospect was laughable.

Hermione Granger, having been granted choice for the first time in days, dared to look up at her new assailants. Only to view pleased, nay jubilant, grey eyes.

If ever there was a man who looked most infuriating when smug, it was Lucius Malfoy. Something grated on her ears, startling her senses then as she was able to regain them; bouts of insane cackling that had disturbed the peace. It was Bellatrix Lestrange, laughing at her misfortune. To her left, her equally depraved husband bared his rotted teeth in pleasure.

"It would seem you've found yourself in our humble abode again….Miss Granger, was it? This time, I'm afraid to say you likely won't leave in one piece."  
The condescending drawl she was all too familiar with cut across the traces of her skin like acid. She found the overwhelming urge to vomit desperately. Weak hands and a weary mind to the naked eye, she'd never let him know she was even more downtrodden than she appeared.

If only she could gather her nerves to speak. Hilarious it was, the way he carried himself. Last time she saw him, he was almost crying; skin sallowed, cheeks hollow, a mere mortal. But she hadn't uttered a word in days, and she knew better than to lose her temper now.  
Lucius had made nice with his master. The cowardice that was ubiquitous in the past was shed when the only way to keep your life was to destroy others. And boy did a Malfoy enjoy having his honour and prestige.

Right after it was known that Harry died, that the wise Albus Dumbledore had been _wrong, _any morale to triumph over evil had all but dissolved. The carnage that ended the Battle of Hogwarts plagued Hermione still, fidgeting always in her dreams.  
Everyone had scrambled to get away once they saw his limp form, as if the boy who no longer lived was infected. Anyone lucky enough to be in hiding or at home had dispersed immediately once word got out, flight infinitely the more practical than fight. The Ministry was already taken over, a joke nowadays, hardly an organization anymore. Voldemort called all the shots. He was infiltrating the Muggle world, slowly but surely. Recruiting and forcing so many more chumps into his web, he had moles and spies in every corner of the world he could get his slippery hands on.

The Malfoy elder was granted charge of co-ordinating crusades nowadays. 'Muggle-Born Registration Commission' was the code; the result an extermination of wand-stealers. Telling ruthless men where to go and what to find, quite the master schemer he'd become. Secretly, his staff reamed him behind his back, noting his twisted, contented face with each kill achieved. An expression of one who appeared like he had just gotten off.

Responsible for the deaths most recently of the Finnigans, the _Prophet_ praised him for the success. The editor was, in no certain phrase, an unforgiving woman. The journalists always dreaded the screech of her calling them in to discuss each piece they wrote. New Ministry employees had suddenly become the epitome of a shining example once a reporter from the muggle news beat came from the head office with burns on his fingers. After the initial acclaim, Order of Merlin's were being awarded left and right to the men and women who eradicated people 'poisoning' the minds of the pure.

Lucius was fingering now the silver pin that came with that prize, twisting it around absentmindedly as he questioned his guests.  
"Where is it you found her, exactly? I know our Lord will love to know. Prepare for the reward of a lifetime, Gerard."

Forever in her heart would that name bring her the anger of a thousand raging dragons. She kept her composure presently, his delightful sneer, his victorious gait not worth her minimal energy. The bastard had rung her in. He had given her the first scrap assurance in what felt like an eternity and stomped her spine into dust.

In any case, being caught by these assholes was paradise compared to what she'd been through.  
_This is nothing, _she caught herself musing.

It was hard enough travelling when there was a ban on apparition, when any spell cast a great risk, when you had to hitchhike everywhere because your every move was tracked; she had made a rookie mistake when she was anything but.

"I found the little lamb wandering alone across the pond. She _almost _made it," he chuckled, face swimming with dark mirth.

Gerard Devereux, the wizard born in Quebec, a year older than she, vividly recalled jumping with recognition in his cramped office. Canadian criminal watch was his assignment; check out anyone who matched a remote description of the duo, she was last seen with the Weasley boy and they wanted his head too. He had access to all new police reports and security screens. Had the special, rare permission to Apparate.

On the west coast, running through the vast forests of Vancouver Island, she was arrested. Accidentally she had stepped five feet too far. The Kwakwaka'wakw were none too happy that a disheveled stranger wandered onto their reserve. Happy they were that she was an illegal immigrant and could call the patrol, entrance was prohibited to anyone not a member of the clan. Her distraught appearance was enough to get the authorities to question her before sending her to jail or on a plane, if only for a minute.

Struck with no ideas on how to explain what she was escaping, they wouldn't have bought any story, it didn't matter anyways. Miles away there sat a man licking his lips with a plan, heart pumping with adrenaline.

Using his fabricated influence, the British Columbian watch had released Hermione into Gerard's custody, posing for a senior officer regarding immigration law was a piece of cake. Taking her aside with fervent eyes, driving her to a hotel to talk, he was a muggleborn escaping Voldemort. Looked elated that she was still breathing. Fed her a story with false knowledge on how his master's progress was going. She was more than ecstatic to be safe for now. "They've spotted a doppelganger of you in Germany," he said in his stupidly endearing accent.

Relief and deluded belief that she wasn't alone anymore was all she felt. He'd driven a car well, he'd understood foreign currency, and as she soon would find out...he must have been an actor in another life.

One night of sleep, she woke up next to him when she fell asleep alone. Truth was he needed to rest, and arrogantly took the risk of slumber, noticing her smiling with unused muscles when they spoke. She had gotten in the middle of a much needed shower, her most vulnerable state, and then he was covering her mouth with a rag until she passed out. Stuffing her into dress and forcing her into a fireplace once she was conscious, her mind was controlled with Imperius for almost three entire days as they waited outside town for the approval of others that Gerard had the right girl.

The curse had lifted, her mind in limbo on the journey to Malfoy Manor was soothing even.  
Right now her head flooded with thoughts of any one of the Death Eaters in here shooting sparks into her brain or heart, maybe torturing her before the fact.  
In fact, if it _were_ up to her, she could probably be content with it all, her limbs were exceptionally numb.  
Feeling something might be a nice change.

Ron had been separated from her weeks earlier when their enemies managed to trail them in New York City. The crowds of Muggle tourists and civilians were never a worry to the relentless horde following the pair, so close they were to their target. They'd split up running in opposite directions once they heard somebody screech the killing curse, and she never found him again, he never made it back to their meeting spot. Risking herself by waiting longer than was justifiable, just like that he was out of her life. He was gone.

The only anchor in this constant nightmare lost, insanity overcame her. Already they'd been forced on the streets, soup kitchens used for sustenance, and many drunken nights spent at strangers hiding places. They couldn't be seen in public for very long, and the darkness had overcome them. It had become just a routine.

Ron was able to keep it together longer than she was because he'd already made the mistake before of cracking under pressure. He was determined not to lose the person who made him feel safest when he wasn't sure anyone else he treasured were dead or not. Leaving his family again was harder than he imagined, but Hermione had nothing and no one left.

But the breaking point for them both was a slow tortuous movement that made a spiral into madness with potency. Loss is a lethal injection that acts like terminal illness.  
No word of Ginny or Fred, their mums or dads, any of their mates for months. For a year. Then for two. And now three.

Hermione was still a genius, that couldn't possibly go away. Yet no money, no magic, no shelter did a lot to people who'd always been blessed with it; camping the months previous was a breeze compared to this. She chose to forget about the future that would never be fulfilled so she could survive with Ron. Succumbing to react on how they felt, not what was right. Wit was only used now to get a hold of newspapers. She knew where all the magical places were and he could use his might when possible.

Ignorance really was bliss, they found out very early. If they managed to find a stray copy of the _Prophet_, they only were confronted with more obituaries, more graves.  
Hermione's broken look said it all when Kingsley Shacklebolt was pronounced dead. Voldemort had finally touched Africa. In Nairobi, where he was raised, Kingsley defended an elementary school of wizard children who were filled mostly of half-bloods. It was bait, and it worked. Printed in bold was a planned attack by the Minister of International Affairs on said institution the week before, and city somehow had no idea what was coming. How could you refuse to fight when you were called out personally by the government? By the Dark Lord? Showing audacity, great sacrifice, to try and protect innocents when you were a powerful target was something an Auror couldn't ignore. Too great for Kingsley to refuse.  
Nobody survived.

After that day, they never sought out newspapers again. Constant dread and worry about their safety, their health, and their loved ones drained them day by day, slowly reducing them to their baser instincts. All day Ron and Hermione would walk, accepting housing if it was offered, not taking heed to who their hosts were.  
Forming a deep attachment to each other, a glance could convey a mountain of words and feelings. The only real pleasure they could get was of the body.

Delirious from reality, they often found themselves with nothing to do but kiss, lick, or fuck. So they did often, and they did so without care. Many nights were spent under trees, in the rain, in a public bathroom, melting their souls together in the only way they could have any semblance of love.

Their ethics flew out the window after sometimes having weeks without a proper meal. Sketchy teenagers or worse shared their drugs with them, or rum, bringing them home to do with them what they pleased.

Sometimes they'd be discovered in the middle of amorous activities, in parks or in cornfields. They'd be taken to studio apartments, to unfinished basements, where a strange man with a camera would film them sucking and banging. Would bathe them in exchange for more masturbation material. Would join in for a threesome and then let them crash on their couches. A pillow and warmth was worth casual, unprotected sex. Was worth being exploited.

There came a point in time right before she was captured where Hermione was propositioned for fun in exchange for food. Ron and she had been lying severely-dehydrated for hours on the outskirts of some random state in America. She couldn't recall how they'd got there, she couldn't recall what day it was.  
One glance at her only friend, dying, and "Fuck it," bled from her lips. The farmer dropped his trousers and she begged for water before going down on him.

He brought her home, reluctantly dragging Ron, and stuck his cock in her, rougher than she could handle. With a gallon of h2o for them both and clean, second-hand clothes, he kicked them out in the morning. They found they were a few hours away from Manhattan when a commuter, in a rare act of kindness, drove them in to her work at a Brooklyn bank.

It was the following afternoon where it all went down. The Separation, she capitalized it in her head, as if it were a historic event everybody knew about.  
Losing Ron, she had to leave. He'd always talked about settling near the ocean, maybe she'd find him there. Logically it would be better for her to go cross country than stay in the region she was, hoping that the Death Eaters put stock in her looking for him longer than necessary. She'd slummed it with sleazy drug smugglers and truckers for the ride there, mostly lonely men desperate for female companionship. Masked their faces with her lovers when they brought her to the truck beds, pretending it was just another night with a Weasley. Imagining the red hair instead of the black or the brown she was running her fingers through.

Her only drumming thoughts then were that she couldn't let herself get caught, this was the only victory she had left. Escaping them. Reuniting with him. What she had been trying to do could not be all for nothing. She couldn't let Ron down, let Harry down. And herself.

Now she lay in front of the people who loathed her for what she couldn't help being, with the mad desire to fall into hysterics.  
How it _was_ all for nothing.  
All that suffering and she was surely meant to be executed tonight. They'd been unyielding in their endeavour to find her.

Brittle conversation wore on for a while, and she observed it with glassy eyes. Waiting for orders, for an appearance perhaps. They were restless, darting casual looks at their prisoner, muttering to each other that she was definitely scared silent. It couldn't possibly be that she didn't care anymore.

Finally, a silky voice was heard throughout the mansion. Combined with low whimpering.

"So sorry to be late like this. How terribly impolite of me, my friends." At the Dark Lord's entrance, every single person in the vicinity dropped to their knees. He wandered into the forefront, where Lucius stood back up, letting the mudblood watch his every move while she sat cross-legged. Smiling gaily at her vacant reaction. By the collar he was dragging a young lad, barely 17, holding a camera.

It became painfully clear what he was about to do.  
Either flaunt her capture, or flaunt her demise.

"I merely had to gather somebody from the press to celebrate the wonderful news. Too exciting to keep it to ourselves. Come now, why are you upset? Oh, I know it's such an ugly sight, to see such filth dirty a pureblood home like this. But it's good news; _good_ news. Won't you show your appreciation for this opportunity? Barnaby, was it?"

The terror in the boys eyes was unnerving, and as he locked onto her own gaze it only became more pronounced.  
"Y-yes, m-my lord. B-b-b-barnaby. I'm – that's my - Thank you, my lord, T-thank you."  
He clanked to the floor, kissing his master's robe hems, pleading with his whole being.

"As you very well know, Barnaby, this is the mudblood Hermione Granger, who has somehow, for the looks of it quite poorly, evaded capture for too long. Now Lucius, before I congratulate your continual success, who was the delegate who found her?"

"I am, Master," Gerard replied with confidence, swishing his cape as he bowed again. "It was all in knowing where to look. Quite easy to fool her once I got close enough, hmm?"

The circle laughed heartily, even Voldemort offered a paltry guffaw.

"And what happened, exactly? A tale for the _Prophet, _take notes, won't you?"

And Gerard regaled the tale, with prompts from his superior, making her sound as if she were some helpless harlot, though now, she thought, that assumption might not be a too much of a stretch.

"It was terrible, really. Lying next to her, and having her gross limbs muddle up against mine. Surely she wanted more than closeness of my flesh," he grimaced, causing cusses and insults to be thrown at her. "But, I endured it all for you, master. She trusted me enough to turn her back after _one_ day. Stupid, _filthy_ ,little mudblood," he hurled, spit landing onto her breast.

She didn't wipe it away.

"Oh, how _horrible_, Gerard. Such suffering. You must be duly rewarded, perhaps some prudent punishment for her will offer some vengeance to settle you for now? What shall it be, mudblood? The cruciatus curse? Maybe one of you would like to go at her without magic, with your bare hands?"

Plenty of volunteers chanted their approval.

"Perhaps a mix of both, don't want to touch tainted skin for prolong periods. I believe you are familiar with the cellar here, aren't you mudblood? Would you like to lie down there in the dark while somebody marks into your skin what you really are? _Answer me._"

With a flourish she felt her chin being lifted, Voldemort's sneer revealing he was lightly annoyed she had no recoil to his threats.  
"Too stunned to reply? How insolent. Perhaps we should end her right now, perhaps that will send a message to all the people still fighting against me. And us."

Bellatrix screeched her heartfelt agreement, clapping with glee. Gerard's face glistened with contentment, and Barnaby went ghostly white.

It was the end.  
She felt it.

Her last few breaths, famous last words were all she had left.

So she did the unthinkable:

She laughed.

It only took a few seconds to grant her the desired effect. Bellatrix lunged forward, screaming at her nerve, and slapped her with brute force. But the sting didn't feel bad.

Rousing them, a daring, mad act, made her fingertips and toes tingle. It relighted some of her willpower, made her remember why she stood against them in the first place. She'd been too far removed from what she was running from to remember all the traits of these terrible human beings. For once she had the control to toy with their feelings. She wasn't crying in fear or begging for life. If this was her fate, she was going to make sure they were vexed.  
She'd never give in to their ideals. She'd never be swayed.

"Do it," she uttered, crystal clear. "_Kill me."_

Lucius widened in surprise, the rest disturbed or angered by the fearless command. Voldemort did the opposite and narrowed his red, glowing slits.

"You aren't afraid?" he asked with genuine curiosity, orbiting her emaciated figure inquisitively. "Surely you must be, otherwise you would've tried to fight me by now."

Hermione didn't respond.  
And when Rodolphus punched her in the face at her impudence, she granted them a small mouthy grin, blood dripping down her cheeks from her nose.

More attempts were made to alarm her to the severity of the situation, by having Nagini trail her way around the girl in circles, slithering onto her skin, up her waist, and tightening coils around her neck. Loosening them when she didn't stir.

Voldemort stalked up to her then, examining all the physical damage; black bruises on arms, her legs. Cuts and scars littering every spare inch they could steal, her hair was wildly long, her eyes darkened with grey. She was certainly malnourished, probably snappable like a twig if so desired. Yet her aura was oddly calm, too calm for his liking.

"_Strange_," the Dark Lord noted, traceless of any emotion as he backed away. "She's obviously been abused, but having her here is not as satisfying as I'd hoped, how irritating. She's cracked...But I think, perhaps...with the right hand...we can get something from her eventually. Evoke some memories from the past. She's ready to die, she's willing. So she must wait."

"_My lord_?" Gerard questioned, earning him a hard stare. He swallowed, recovering quickly. "What then would you, _ahem, _suggest we do with her, master? I thought you'd want her disposed of -well - I. I apologize that this isn't how you wanted it to be."

"Now, now, the fault is not yours. Clearly she's out of her mind, so obviously, we must bring her back to normal."

"N-normal, my lord?" Lucius spluttered. "_Why-_ ?"

Voldemort spun round to face the window, grinning to himself.  
He had so many prospects and things to spend his time on, fixating on a silly mudblood was almost useless.

It was clear that she'd struggled all this time. But all the same…she was Potter's best friend, and she symbolized everything he hated. Everything he lived to eradicate. Embodied the notion that muggles had rights and could be a witch or wizard, and could be more intelligent or worthy than someone like him who was born to be magical. Her nerve was nearly admirable, though idiotic, and she needed a swift kick off her horse.

Hermione suddenly went limp. As he strode back into the middle, hands behind his back clutching his wand, the Dark Lord kicked her with gusto in the ribs.

"Obviously bringing her physical pain does barely any harm. Death would be futile. We can show the world what happens to them if they disobey by using her as an example. I doubt this one will ever be open to working for us, though that would be a delicious slap in the face to them all. No, we need to make her remember what she misses, need to let her know how much of a foolish, naughty miscreant she's been. She needs to have _feelings_ to be humiliated. To understand she doesn't deserve to think she's even worthy of ever being called a witch. Needs to know how wrong she was to side with Potter, and how much of an abomination it is that she exists. Psychological warfare, if you will. Then we can break her apart when she remembers her, what is it? _Love_."

Nobody said a thing as he so smoothly explained this, his anger undermining the calm tone he was portraying.

"I'm unsure of who I want to take control of this task. I need somebody inventive. Perhaps unexpected. No doubt it will be difficult, but it might be _fun._ For now, Lucius, I think the mudblood needs to rest."

She was lifted off the ground, floating into the arms of a gruff Death Eater who coud have held two of her. Wanting her to know nothing of where she was when she awoke, the Dark Lord _did _want her to be comfortable and alert. If she was empty, she couldn't respond.

"I'll be back momentarily, take her to a spare bedroom in an unused part of the house."

Instructing Barnaby to take a snapshot of Hermione barely alive, the photographer took forever, finally getting a clear shot after fumbling with shaking hands. They smoked away in the fireplace to bring the boy back to the P_rophet_ and report the findings. Word would be out in the morning.

Perhaps this would cause an uprising of angry blood traitors to try and discover her whereabouts, Voldemort pondered after he returned the spare to his job. Stressing to him before he returned that he and his writer work efficiently on the story and run it by the Carrows before printing it front page.

Perhaps this would be the wakeup call the plebeians needed to realize what side they should be on, what side was right. Kingsley Shacklebolt's death caused a ripple of uncertainty the year before, it could probably be bigger with this one. Knowing Granger, another of the three, was down. Perhaps he could scare the other leaders of rebellion into alliance, and then, compliance. Perhaps this capture was filled with bigger prospect than he expected it to be.

Toiling for another hour, pacing the drawing room with antsy followers, he narrowed down his candidates for the assignment. It had to be somebody personal, somebody she had experience with. A member of the opposite sex, perhaps, to provoke her more strongly. He didn't understand the human mind, or the female mind for that matter. But he understood that the mudblood had, or did have, quite the attitude. And only certain people could trigger it again. Knew enough about her to make her react.

With these thoughts swirling around, a fitting, unlikely name popped into his head.

"Lucius?" he called, every face whipping to the master of the house.

"Yes, my lord?" he answered, chest tightening in anticipation.

"Where is Draco?"


	2. First Encounter

_I am strong, love is evil.  
It's a version of perversion that is only for the lucky people._

_{}_

There was a record Hermione had listened to on repeat for a week when a bunch of indifferent junkies let Ron and she crash on their pull-out couch. Not able to recall the name of the tune, not able to recall the band because she too was heavily sedated, the lyrics came swirling around in her head as consciousness overcame her.

_Every day I wake up, every day I wake up alone._

Dreaming of the last - well _fond_ wasn't quite the right word to use – but perhaps the last memory she didn't feel so ill at ease, she had woken up from remembering the final time she and Ron had slept together on something other than the ground.

But now….

_Every day I wake up, every day I wake up alone._

Eerie it was, the only thing ringing in her ears was false as she examined the unfamiliar locale she found herself in.

The room was too pristine. Too silent. The bed she lay in unused, blankets and mattress stiff. It should've been wildly comfortable, but the lack of activity was unnerving.  
The only light emanated from a lone window above her head, shining through in a stream from the curtains, hitting the vanity table across from her, reflecting off the mirror. Walls painted pale peach, all furniture was a light wood, a decorative scheme sickly ironic if she was in the place she thought she was.

Perhaps it was all still a dream.  
Certainly the Dark Lord wouldn't have set her up in such an oddly homely chamber. Certainly she wouldn't be alert or hydrated under his watch. Shouldn't she be in agonizing pain? Shouldn't she be shackled by chains in a dungeon somewhere? Shouldn't there be a Death Eater sneering down their nose at her?

"_Am I dead?" _she whispered aloud to the confines, sitting up, questioning whether or not you'd be able to see floating dust particles in the afterlife.

The chorus of the song filled her as the door swung wide open.

_Kill me, just kill me; someone get me out of the sun._

A mirthless chuckle echoed through, flowing in and out of her skull.

His clothing is what she noticed first; the way he filled them out.  
Draco Malfoy no longer had the slender, slippery bearing she recalled him having in his youth. A white dress shirt fit him rather tightly about the arms, snug at his chest, biggest at the waist.

It was more striking to her however, that though his body had matured, his carriage reminded her of when they'd first met so long ago. His hair was still shockingly white, now short and licked to the side, a skin pallor to match. His pink mouth twisted into that signature smirk, grey eyes squinting with a secret. Patronizing and superior all over.

"I'm surprised they didn't find you dead in a ditch, Granger," he drawled with a soft tone, folding his arms as he stopped short of the four-poster, locking the door lazily with magic.

She didn't bother to focus on his face after the initial sweep of his appearance, offering no response to the quip.

"By the looks of it you must've spent the night in far worse than a gutter, though, hm? Been straight asleep for nearly 4 days. Do you have any idea of what the date is? The month?"

Twisting his wand between two fingers, he gazed at her still, continuing to speak.

"It's rude not to answer to your betters, Granger. Haven't I been _polite_ so far?" he inquired, rolling up his sleeves as he sat on the edge of her sheets. "Why won't you speak to me?"

When she continued keeping her eyes dull and unfocused, he drew the tip of hawthorn wood into her cheek and down to her clamped lips.

Crawling closer to her frame, invading her personal space, it was the first time he spotted just how slight she'd become with no cover to her. Swimming, she was, in the night gown that once fit an adolescent Narcissa Malfoy.  
He waved his hand in front of her face, and then leaned in.

"Perhaps you're too shocked? It _must_ be discerning to see _me _now, isn't it? Afraid that you're in my command, in my hands? _Because you are_," he whispered softly, breath hitting the shell of her ear as she counted to ten and stared straight ahead.

"Are you trying not to cry? Realize that you're on your own now, this isn't a safe haven like you thought might be a possibility? Somebody didn't protect you after all, nobody freed you. Weasley always was a _pathetic_ excuse for a man, let alone wizard."

Clutching folds of fabric tight with fists, she cursed her actions inwardly as his eyes flickered to the subtle movement. He grinned.  
"Hm, so you _aren't _out of your mind, like they've all been saying. You _can_ hear me. I must confess I'm sad I missed your gallant display in front of the Dark Lord. Daring him to kill you? I was _almost _impressed if it wasn't so ridiculously foolish. Clever, if your tactic was to stay alive, because he would never grant you your wish. But I gather it wasn't, was it? Surely you know you'll be tortured..." he trailed a solitary finger in time with his speech, caressing stray hairs and skin around her neck. "Do you want to be? What _do _you want? Do you really want to die, Granger?"

A gasp left her throat unwilling, his touch the gentlest in what felt like an eternity.  
Then, the grasp became firmer, enclosing her trachea with uncomfortable, yet not life-threatening, grip.

"Well, _do you_?"

"_Yes."  
_The world strangled out of her mouth, freezing the Slytherin beside her immediately. He released her, slid off the bed then, returning to the vanity. Which she only now noticed contained a vessel of bubbling purple potion. And lots of food on a tray.

"_Wonderful," _he murmured happily, "This makes my task much simpler. I should almost thank you."

Spinning round to place the things she desperately required in front of her, he waited for a moment. If she was right about what he was going to say or do, she'd need to eat, but felt no hunger. And no will to comply.

"It's my job, love," Draco continued non-chalantly, pouring out a shot of the concoction and thrusting it into her hand, "to ensure that you _don't. _First step isn't going so well. Certainly you need to eat. If you don't co-operate with me, Granger, I have ways of _forcing_ you to."

Before there was time left to think, Hermione snorted.

The grip on the bottle was turning Draco's knuckles white.

"Think I'm _joking, _you filthy mudblood?" he hissed, pushing her backwards onto the pillows and prying her mouth open, glass between her teeth, the liquid burning her tongue as it slid its way down.

She saw his composure snap back into what it was before as he let her go of her quickly; a carbon copy of Voldemort's. Deceptively friendly, calm until you disobeyed.

He'd just made her drink a healing potion; a strong one. What for, she couldn't tell exactly, but the properties and the taste attested to the uniform nature she'd once studied.  
"I don't think you're joking at all. That's why it's so funny," she told him, deciding to look up at him this time.

"_Funny? Is it funny that I'm willing to do things to you that you couldn't possibly imagine?" _he spit as his pupils dilated, as he enclosed her in his shadow.

"I know what you're doing," she stated, as he let out an uncontrollable frustrated '_ha_'. "Oh, I do, don't scoff. Trying to be a big man who doesn't need to shout to be in control, aren't you? If you're attempting to intimidate me, it won't work," she taunted him, smiling brightly as she noticed his rigid grip.

"And _why _is that, exactly?" he questioned her. "Because you've decided to hang onto a glimmer of false faith and can't recognize when you are trapped here? That I can do anything that I want and won't receive repercussions?"

"No, none of those. I feel too _sorry_ for you to have any semblance of _fear."_

It was if she'd doused him in fiendfyre.  
The next thing she knew as the sentence escaped her, he'd grabbed the collar of her dress and flung her onto the hard wood. The sharp crack of her bony hips and shoulders rattled the portraits that were hung overhead.

"_Sorry _for me? _SORRY!" _he bellowed. "Who do you think you are, you vapid little bitch? Think you're so fucking smart, don't you? Where do you get off trying to rouse me like that in the state _you're_ in? I'm perfectly fine!"

"Are you, Draco? _Are you?" _she mocked in the manner he'd done moments before as she got back up. "As I recall it, last time I had the displeasure of your company, _Ron _saved you from death a second time, as you were whining like the little bitch I apparently am, and then proceeded to punch you in the –" she didn't finish as he growled loudly, lifting her back up again and dumping her on the bed, watching the way his chest heaved erratically while he breathed.

"Don't you _dare _call me 'Draco'. You insolent, - "

"Having a hard time keeping your cool, are you? Your scheme to feign indifference does not seem to be working out. Remind you of sixth year a bit, doesn't it," Hermione interrupted him.

Limbs pinned her down to the mattress; he was straddling her. Holding her slim wrists easily with one hand, raising them above her hair that cascaded behind her. The other hand traced over the silk of her nightclothes, in between her breasts, dipping low to places she refused to shudder at.

"_I have so much in store for you, you know," _he revealed to her, biting her lobe hard as he nipped his way up her neck, making her squirm. "And depending on how you react to me, will depend on how…._forgiving _I could be. But if you are a complete _nuisance,_" he stressed, pressing his hips to hers as he clutched her waist, "this won't be very _pleasant_."

Picking himself off of her with a final bark, he never could have prepared himself for the actions she took next.

She floated upwards, wraith-like and completely frightening, startling him as she had nerve to draw herself to full height. Fingering the hem of the only thing concealing herself, she peeled it off and dropped it unceremoniously to the ground.

The boy gaped as she stood there with boldness, the fire in her eyes what drove the shock home.

"See these?" she motioned sweetly to blue patches scattered around her pert red nipples, "these," she flowed her hand to bigger, blacker bruises on her hips, "and these?", she finished, spreading her legs wide so he could see that the inside of her thighs were covered:  
"You think, with the state i'm in already, that there's_ anything _a gutless eel like you could possibly do to me that hasn't already been done a million times?"

With that reveal, naked and uncaring, she sprawled back onto the bed, uttering her final words: "Try me."

He surveyed her quietly for what felt like hours. So long that she almost forgot he was in the room, almost fell back asleep, until he shuffled over and raised her gently into his arms, underneath her knees and shoulder blades.  
Limply, she just let him take control as he carried her into a lavatory that was hidden behind an entry she didn't spot before.

Twisting knobs for the shower, he pushed her under the warm droplets and waited until she was thoroughly soaked. Discarding his shirt only, he joined in, sensing tension and apprehension as he neared her body that was facing away.

Flashbacks of the week previous were hazing over her vision, his presence felt too close, and _so _wrong.

First he washed her hair, never moving an inch. Hermione felt her lips tremble and her muscles ache with strain. The feeling of his hands massaging her scalp was sending unwanted signals to her brain.  
Lathering plenty of soap between his fingers, he let her be for only a few seconds. With care, he then placed his palms on the small of her back and began to rub. So slow that it was almost tortuous, he moved downwards, caressing her battered arse before circling his arms to her front.

He teased her thighs, ghosting the back of his thumb only once up her slit before dancing around her pelvic bones. Fidgeting, she was imparting tiny moans each time he hit a place that hurt or tingled. It was impossible to keep her natural, physical reactions at bay. Sensing his hardened chest against her as he pressed himself closer, his exhales hit her exposed skin in a way that made her shiver. He tightened his grip on her torso as she became more restless with the touches, squeezing and kneading her breasts, kissing a line from her nape down her spine. She was pressing herself into his trousers, her back arcing with involuntary pleasure.

And then, with great unexpected strength, he turned her around. Turned the water off, then shoved her against the stone. Feeling his heartbeat against hers, he cupped her bottom and pulled her upwards, legs swinging beside his waist, her stark form grinding against him.

"_Yes," _directly into her eyes, he spoke. "I think there _is_ something else I can try_."_

A venom-injected sneer appeared on his face, chilling her, the expression ugly and inhuman. Returning her to her quarters, he delivered her where she wanted to be still damp and dripping.

She knew he'd won this round, and knew he felt victorious, by the way he said '_eat', _before slithering into the hallway again. The lock clicked again, with a finality that hadn't been present the first time.

Hermione redressed slowly, then proceeded to stare at the porridge present in the feast as she lay back down. Still hot from a spell cast on it surely, she brought a spoonful to her lips. Leaving the rest untouched as it became ruined with a fountain of tears.

{}

"So, trouble in paradise?"  
Smoke circles rose above the heads of two young men, both inhaling cigarettes by a crackling fire.

"What makes you say that?"

"Progress doesn't seem up to par for you concerning our special guest."

"I have it all figured out, don't you worry."

"_Heh, _you always portray such confidence Malfoy, but I've known you for years. Something was irking you when you came back here this afternoon, despite your victorious smirk and gleeful scant retelling to your auntie."

Greasy hair that rivaled Severus Snape's, and a constant air rank with conceit presented Draco with the unwelcome company of Theodore Nott.

"Get too close to her? _Aw, _did she touch my poor wittle pureblood?" Nott snickered, flicking ash onto the floor.

"No_."  
_I_ touched her_, Draco thought, tapping his foot on the hearth as he rested in an armchair.

"Cold feet then, perhaps? _No_?" Nott mused at his ally shaking his head. "What is it you're planning, anyways? From what I gather, you are meant to heal her…and then _what? _If we're not torturing her or killing her the old-fashioned way."  
He was leaning in front of the flames, against the mantle, far too arrogantly in Draco's opinion.

"If you were meant to find out what I was to do, you wouldn't have to ask about it."

The eye roll did not go unnoticed, nor the subtle grind of teeth.  
"Stop dodging. You really think I'm going to take _that_ for an answer?"

He didn't dignify the inquiry with a response.

"You think I'll tattle, Draco? Don't trust me?"  
Nott had raised his eyebrow; raised a challenge.

"_Yes. _That's exactly what it is."

"Sarcasm?"

"No," he chuckled. "I don't even _know_ why you keep coming here. Don't pretend like you're my mate, you wouldn't trust me with your worst enemy."

Stepping in front of his legs, blocking out all light, Nott bent down to look him in the eyes.  
"It never changes round here, does it?"

"I have no idea what you mean," was the retort, as he flickered his gaze away, as if he had more important things to ponder than a wide-open jaw.

"_Shut up_." The glass of scotch he'd been holding smashed onto the carpet, alcohol leaking into the expensive rug, shards glistening. "You and your family have been a thorn in my side forever. Finally, when your dad fucks up royally a few years ago, I think justice will prevail. And _you_ - oh you were _so _mad."

Tensing his now free hand, heat was filling every crevice available inside Draco's body.

"But then, _then, _lo and behold with a flash of wealth, you still get lucky. How is it fair that _my _dad works for _yours_? Just because old Lucy hires muggle hit men, kills a few skilled Aurors at the right moment in time, he gets to be in charge of finding Potter's two accomplices_? Bullshit!"_ Nott released a sharp cackle, then stepped backwards to survey his fairweather friend. "I don't like how you keep creeping into my life, Malfoy. I _deserve_ this, you don't. Snape saved your ass last time, and the only reason the Dark Lord picked you for this important of a task is because you tormented the bitch when you were twelve. Soon, though…..soon you're going to fail. I'm waiting for it. Knowing her from school will get in the way of getting the job done. She will figure out how to piss you off and reveal your weakness to exploit it, if she hasn't already."

_Don't do it, don't – Control yourself, _ran through the paler boy's mind, blinking once to settle his desperately aching palms.

"You are _pathetic_," Draco stated evenly.

A sharp slap resonated throughout the parlour, grunts and curses trailing behind Nott as he stalked away, slamming the front entrance behind him._  
_

It was exactly what he'd been hoping for.  
Rubbing his face, Draco sunk into the cushions, grinning.

He was testing different tactics out on people other than _her. _  
Throwing her on the ground earlier in the day was rash, it was a mistake. Nott, though too temperamental for his own good, was right. Showing her that she could affect him in any way, and behaving in response, would be his ultimate demise. Obviously she wasn't too far gone; she was annoyingly perceptive, and had a good memory. She hadn't forgotten how he used to be.

"Whatever," he muttered, steeling his mind shut for now.  
He'd figure it out.

After sitting alone for a length uncounted, Death Eaters filing in and out of the place to offer him updates or to find his father, he stood up to move himself to a safer haven.

Winding his way up to the third floor, he pushed himself into the study.  
A long blonde head was toiling over several documents, emitting small noises of disdain or approval at a desk. Draco was internally pleased he was getting better at silencing his footsteps, their staircase decrepit and creaky normally.

"I'm going to bed now."

The chair swiveled round, not concerned as the occupant recognized his intruder's voice.  
"_Now? _It's only half nine."

"Sort of tired of directing all the grovelling losers up here. Can't they just fire you an owl?"

The Minister of International Affairs sighed, rubbing his temple. He didn't have time for this.  
"_Fire an owl? _Owls can be intercepted, you _know_ this. Is it seriously so hard to repeat a sentence to people? Why must you insist on making asinine comments and being difficult?"

_Because it pisses you off.  
_"Sorry if lately I feel like an employee rather than _family_," Draco snapped.

"Unlike you, son, they all have more than one thing to worry about. Sleep is a privilege when you are tracking human beings," Lucius stated calmly, pointing to the sofa against the wall. In front of it was a coffee table with untouched dinner. "Eat something. I know you haven't, Martha told me."

Ever since Dobby had turned out to be an unexpected game-changer, Voldemort had banned the usage of house elves. Servants who enjoyed labour off the market, and Lucius had been forced to hire more help. At first he hated the idea of having autonomous workers who could speak their mind, yet he found they turned out to be much better at picking up the slack where his son was a concern.

Huffing, Draco plopped himself down, crossing one leg and refusing to face his father. Uncouthly, he grabbed a slice of chicken with bare hands and shoved it in his mouth, grumbling that at least the elves never snitched. The only sustenance he was interested in was stowed away in a flask in his pocket. But he had to bribe a less moral acquaintance of Bellatrix to get his supply for him, he wasn't allowed to leave the house. And couldn't reveal to Lucius that he had any vices at all.

"Don't be all sour. With all the training you've been given you need to match it with proper meals. How is your first official mission going, anyways? You've been avoiding me all week. Just because you have free time now doesn't mean you get to do nothing. Did the mudblood finally wake up? Did you talk to her? You _know _that he'll come in to check the progress soon, don't you?"  
Serious expressions prompted serious responses.

Prompts sometimes fail.  
"Quit treating me like a child, won't you? I _know _that. She's not as insane as you lot told me, that's all you need to know. I'll be fine."

"_Fine _isn't up to standard!" Lucius dropped his letters, tore off his bifocals, and gave Draco his full attention. "I doubt whether he cares what lengths you have to take to get to her, but remember that you will be in _deep_ seas if you can't do this. And do it fast. Patience is his worst virtue. He can read your mind, will know if you're lying, and _will_ question the mudblood to test your success._"_

"Bellatrix taught me occlumency, remember? And like you'd even care if he throws me into the water. You'd disown me sooner than admitting your own son is incompetent. Where's mother anyway?"

"_Draco!" _

"_What?"_

"You're being _highly_ disrespectful. I only ask _because_ I have concern. I don't do this to torment you. Getting mad at me because I don't want you malnourished or _dead_ is ridiculous. I'm so frustratingly busy that I can't enjoy the success of having caught the stupid girl. Or show my pride, either. You _know_ I'm glad you have been put in charge of it, but if she managed to escape capture for so long, she can't be as helpless as we've all made her out to be."

"_Where,_ is mother?"  
Defiant words matching a defiant face, Draco had heard this speech already, in different manners of speaking, a hundred times now.

"She's gone off to Spain. She needed a vacation. Are you even listening?"  
The flash of hurt crossing Lucius's demeanour, the harsh delivery, and Draco decided to ease up only slightly.

"Part of the plan is to make her unsure of when her next visit is, alright? It's not from lack of trying. Trust me when I say that I have things in store for Hermione Granger that even the Dark Lord would probably think twice about doing. If you have to give word over to snake-face, let him know that she likes talking to me. Cause she likes trying to piss me off. She's not mental, so it's going to work. She's going to be begging me to end her life."

Examining his locked stance, his steady smirk, Lucius wondered for a moment if it was his son's rationality they needed to worry about instead of their hostages.

"Just don't be stupid."

"_Sigh, _Thanks for the words of wisdom, _dad." _  
Removing himself from the vicinity, Draco planned his escape route.

"Don't lose your head and be arrogant, is all I mean. Or do irrational things you'll regret. It'll be tempting….but I'd know very well the consequences of that by now, wouldn't I?"

Pausing for a moment, a rare admission it was that a Malfoy would reflect openly on his mistakes, Draco wished him a good night.

"Tell me when your darling wife has returned, won't you? I do miss her you know, in case she forgot that I exist."

"_Draco..."_

"I left a note on the door, by the way. And a diagram with directions to this location. Those chumps can learn how to navigate themselves, shouldn't be allowed to keep a job if they are _that_ daft..."

Lucius snorted, unable to mask his amusement, before turning back to his papers.  
"Go to sleep, son."

Rest was the last thing possible when your mind turbulent. Entering the only place where he was truly solitary, Draco stripped down to his skivvies, focusing on movement rather than ideas. A hundred push ups, fifty sit ups, and a cool rinse later, he fell backwards onto his sheets, exhausted.

Lying bare atop his comforter, slumber didn't take him very easily. The exertion had failed to ease the rampant thoughts that plagued him.  
Thumbing below his waist, Draco downed the rest of his scotch while he contemplated on whether or not his master plan was truly a good idea. Warnings from all the people around him, and he needed to take a load off. Literally.

His subject was well past the usage of words affecting her psyche, it was action that needed to be done. Obvious flaws, gaping side-effects lay in his initial strategy, but this scheme was also sure to cause Hermione the greatest of displeasures. _No_, he was sticking to his gut.

Groaning with release, pleased he had settled the matter, he was far too intoxicated to worry about all the images of a wet mudblood crossing his mind even after he cleaned himself up, his cock staying hard with no grip.


	3. Free Will

_Lay my head, under the water , alone I pray for calmer seas  
And when I wake from this dream, with chains all around me  
No, I've never been, I've never been free _

_{}_

_Horcrux, though often mistaken for having Latin_ _roots_, _derives its name from the French meaning, 'the soul outside'._

It had been a week.  
Perhaps more.

_The 'outside' refers to the split piece of soul produced by the spell, as it rests separate from the physical body of the creator._

A week since she'd seen his face, but he'd definitely been here.  
From his words, she was certain that she was his 'assignment', and therefore the person in charge of her; the only one.

Every morning there would be a fresh concoction and some kind of food waiting for her.

_Unknown to most witches and wizards because of its dark nature and widespread illegality, there has been few known to ever be successful in crafting one. _

But she never ate.  
Only drank her medicine, because she felt her strength come back, some of her lingering sanity, from the miniscule amount that her superior had shoved down her throat.

_In order to create such a fantastic feat of magic, one must first find a victim. Within his journals, Herpo the Foul attested to using a man who will be missed neither by muggles or our kind, as no family or friends suggests nobody will be alarmed by their disappearance. _

Now into day 14 – maybe 15 - her bruises were nearly healed. The dull ache she'd constantly felt was slowly but surely fading into nothingness, leaving only her will to fill with pain.

She smacked the copy of _A History Most Foul _onto the floor with her hand.  
It was her sixth time through, and she was sick of re-reading about the darkest, most vile wizards of all time, considering she was living with some of them. The room hadn't been completely emptied before she became resident. Surely, though, she constantly found herself thinking, surely the gods were punishing her for leaving her with only a _single_ book.

Its presence only served as a reminder that she hadn't read _anything_ in far too long. The single, terrible, piece of literature was not nearly enough to provide any satisfaction.

Creating some kind of routine was perhaps the only thing that served that purpose.  
Even if it was dull, it was habitual, and therefore _expected. _She would wake up, reminisce of a fond memory, shower, drink potion, sleep some more.  
The substance in the powerful brew was enough to keep her alive, but not enough to give her much energy. Trapped essentially in just a bed, unable to relax, she may as well use it for its full intent and purpose.

It was only a matter of time before _he_ showed up again.

The door opened then, after the thwack of the binding hit the ground. An eerie creak alarmed her, but there was no chance to process who was yanking her from her confines. Something black and stiff wrapped round her eyes, while rough hands dragged her down endless hallways to a place much colder and more sinister.

{}

"You're concerned about Draco, Lucius."

Not a question, but an observation.  
A quizzical expression faced a nervous one, the latter determined nonetheless, to explain himself.

"Of course I am, my lord. He's my son. His reputation as well as mine is on the line at all times."  
Dramatically swinging his robes, the great leader spun round to walk across the lush, flowering garden in the setting sun. The manors many acres were nothing short of spectacular at dusk.

"Mm, I don't think you're being completely _honest _with me, Lucius. It's not _merely_ about reputation."  
Glancing back to witness his halted uneasy follower, Voldemort inquired further: "Is it?"

Fumbling over sentences, spluttering like a fibbing child, the blonde man sighed to clear his throat before becoming coherent.  
"I must confess that, lately….Draco hasn't seemed….his attitude…._ahem, _I'm unsure of how to describe this to you, my lord. Certainly you don't care about my personal worries, you have much more important-"

"_Ah, _au contraire, I _do _worry about the welfare of my Death Eaters." A serpentine smile spread wide across Voldemort's face as he cut him off. "My success relies in theirs. It's of my opinion that Draco is fine. In fact, speaking to him today instilled in me some much desired confidence in his task."

The footsteps in the grass stopped once more.  
"Did it?"

"You sound surprised. He's not a child anymore, Lucius."

"I'm aware."

"Are you? I think you're having a hard time accepting that he's 20 years old now, he's autonomous from you, and the only reason he still stays here is because he must."  
Remembering who he was talking to, Lucius dug his nails into his hand before he could speak aloud his ruffled opinions.

"He just doesn't seem himself lately," he muttered instead.

"That's probably a good thing now, isn't it?" Voldemort replied with a menacing sneer. "You're under the impression he's become jaded; indifferent or uncaring to everything."

A snort echoed through the hedges. "He cares about himself. That much is evident."

"Isn't that the most important person to be bothered about, Lucius?" Examining his wand, the Dark Lord stood still again, this time directly in front of his company. "Am I wrong, then? Bellatrix shared your distress, confided in me. For different reasons however."

"_Bellatrix?"_

"You're skeptical of her qualms?"

"I am, my Lord. And you are not wrong….just, _Bellatrix? _You know more than I she is devoted solely to pleasing you."  
The haughty drawl was momentarily back.

"_Yes, _that is true."

"May I dare ask _why _she expressed such distress?"

"You may. It is, after all, why I brought you out here."  
Voldemort gestured to a bench, slithering down into the seat, waiting for his follower to lower himself as well.  
Lucius was certain if anybody had treaded into this set scene, it would look bizarre, perhaps even comical. But he himself felt his body go rigid, the red slits more unnerving than usual.

"Y-you brought me out here to discuss my sister-in-law?"

"No, about _Draco_. Lucius," he began with a silvery tone. "That mudblood and your son have a history. One of mutual loathing. Selecting him was a chance for revenge on his part, and as well, he will have a better understanding on how to wind her up. I thought perhaps he deserved it after co-operating so well with Dolohov during his training. Did much better than Nott's useless child, anyways."

The Malfoy elder gave a polite throaty chuckle, pleased, however feeling that something much graver was coming next.

"I don't know when it was that Draco began to speak with me in a voice free of fear, but as it stands, there's no terror in his stance when I call on him. None."

"_A-and that upsets you?" _Lucius asked, a cold weight suddenly gripping him, feeling it extend to his toes.

"Not at all. In fact, once I realized what had changed in him, I was almost..._astonished."_

"Astonished, my lord?"  
Voldemort chuckled mirthlessly.

"Yes. Because now, even though you've earned your way back up the ladder, your own son has surpassed you," he taunted, causing Lucius to tilt his head in great shock. "Oh, don't look so stunned. Draco used to be a sniveling _boy_, all talk, no action. He has learned his _place, _is what I'm saying. And you, _ha, _you think that something is _wrong_ with him."

"_I d-don't, he's merely-_" he pleaded, face draining of all colour.

A hand was raised and everything became silent again.

"_Shush_. Everybody knew I punished your mistakes by using Draco to kill that bumbling nuisance, Dumbledore. Don't pretend like that job was honourable. Don't pretend like you didn't feel like scum on the bottom of my shoes until last year. But unlike _you, _after Potter's demise, Draco accepted his fate, and is ready to do the work he was meant to do. He's not gone insane, he's manned up. Perhaps I was mistaken in thinking he was just as cowardly as his father. He was just a child then, wasn't he? And you're _still_ _weak, _Lucius_._ You let others do the dirty work for you. Why do you think I put you in charge of directing people instead of going in yourself?"

"M-my lord-"  
There was a smack so loud that it resonated into the darkness, a red print left on the shamed man's cheek.

"Don't 'my lord' _me_. You may be intelligent but you're gutless. Draco, on the other hand, is prepared to take drastic measures to get through to our resident prisoner. I've seen what he has already done to her, and what he means to do. You are under the impression that he'll take advantage of having a vulnerable girl that is similar in age to him, perhaps that he'll get unhealthily attached to her, aren't you? But I know if there's any pleasure he's getting from Hermione Granger, it's all sweet vengeance. Bellatrix was afraid, so you're aware, that he'd, shall we say, _dirty _himself with her. Well to me, that's not a concern."

Whatever retort Lucius had readied died in his throat.

"You see, Lucius, the silly girl was expecting for us to torture and kill her. It's what I would've liked to do. But I inspected his progress today, and the mudblood was at her wit's end. She tried to hide it, but I could sense the confusion. She was healing nicely, and was more responsive, more rational than when he brought her here a fortnight ago. She doesn't know _why_ she has been treated well_._ And I believe that the fact she was wrong about our actions _killed _her mentally. This has convinced me that a different approach is worth trying. In order to break her, to punish her, we must be mysterious. We must make her _paranoid._ It's what she deserves after figuring out how to destroy _my_ secrets,_"_ he spat, the grip on the wand enough to break it.

The cup, the ring, the diary, the diadem, the locket; all _gone.  
_Any soul left to split was surely at great risk, one he couldn't afford. Only Nagini remained.

"She thrives on _knowing, _and we will make sure she's kept in the dark_."_

Lucius swallowed a lump before responding.  
"What exactly am I supposed to be taking away from this conversation, my lord? Please, I'm not being insolent," he admitted quietly. "I'm serious."

Voldemort removed his contemplative gaze from the ground back to the pathetic excuse before him and grinned.  
"You could learn something from Draco, Lucius, is what you're supposed to take away. _And_ that if you put a stop to whatever he decides to do to her, that you _will_ hear from me. And it will not be pleasant."

With that he shook his head sadly, as if dismissing Lucius' existence entirely, and flourished his arm upwards to disappear with a sharp crack into the night.

Left on the bench, for the first time he could recall it, the man sitting upon it desired very much for somebody to hold him.

{}

"You haven't been eating. I must say I'm a little disappointed."

Groggy vision cleared to reveal her sworn enemy lain beside her, legs stretched out, arms leisurely folded behind his head.

"You do remember what I told you about your compliance, don't you?"

Vividly, flashes of the afternoon before came rushing through her head, of being interrogated quite _pleasantly_ about how she was feeling by that vile boor. Shuddering violently, she felt his hand close around her wrist, and without daring to look at his face, she caught a glimpse instead at his mark, the ink a bold black that was forever swirling.

"It's alright, I won't punish you," he cooed condescendingly, smirking.

"_I wasn't trembling because of _you." Her voice was scratchy, unused.  
She so desired to punch him in the nose, to shake him away from her limbs for good.

"_Shame,_ I was hoping I'd have the effect. I guess it was about your encounter last night? Did seeing _him_ again traumatize you?"

"No."  
The questions he asked had been too peculiar.

"I imagined not. The Dark Lord was _happy_ darling, which is why, more than anything, _I'm_ not too angry about this situation. Don't feel inclined to bully you today. However," he brandished his wand, and levitated her food towards them, setting it on her lap with a gentle grace. "You need to feed yourself, to remedy this dilemma."

He snatched a strip of bacon and flapped it in front of her face.

"And what if I don't want to?" she questioned him, slapping his hand, yanking her own arm away and choosing only the potion to consume.

"What will it take for you to eat, hmm? I can get them to make you _anything_." He sat up then, resting his elbows on his knees and peeking at her through pale hair. "You _do_ want to. I know you do."

"_You don't know a damn thing about me_," she snarled, drawing herself back straight afterwards, expecting some kind of physical reprimand.

"Oh, but I do," he whispered gently. "You never eat so you're always, _always_ exhausted. So you don't have to _deal _with any of this unless somebody wakes you up. You _know _I won't let you perish, so you drink that mix I made so you won't feel like shit, so you can keep your guard up."

Hermione stopped mid-gulp, wanting to spew the contents of her stomach back out.  
"_You _made this?"  
She eyed the empty vessel, holding it away from her lips, as if it were contaminated with a disease most horrific.

"Of course I did. You think you're the only person who's good at technical skills you learn from books, eh?"  
He was granted with a look, one that made him smile instead of glower.  
"It's for _you_. Think the Death Eaters care about your welfare? How else did you expect me to get it? Are you even listening to me?"

"_Yes_, I am. You think you have me all figured out, as per usual," she commented, dropping the bottle back onto the platter, the smell of meat wafting into her nostrils.

Her stomach gave an involuntary, and painful, rumble, causing her to wince.

"If you keep up this hunger strike, you know I'm going to have to take some desperate measures."

"Like _what? _Giving me a back rub? Because that was _so_ horrible. Why do you even want me to eat, Malfoy?"

Raising a brow, he simpered.  
Then moved the dishes onto the dresser.  
Then grabbed her gently, and swung one leg around her frame so she was resting in between his.

"Maybe, if this isn't so bad, it'll help convince you to co-operate," he purred, separating her hair so it laid down her front.

He heard her swallow and exhale a shattered breath while he was pulling the dainty zipper of her nightgown down to reveal her skeletal spine.

Tracing her shoulder blades with careless thumbs, she sat shock still as he began to massage her; massage her _properly.  
_Where he learnt to put the right amount of pressure, and what places to apply it _to_ was a mystery to her. What wasn't was the intended reaction he wanted.

Kneading her nape with two fingers, he continued, "I'm glad you _do _pay attention, Granger. You haven't earned the right to call me Draco…_yet._"

"And I never _will_," she resolved.  
Her body was betraying her as she spoke, stifling groans and gasps as he worked her unused muscles.

"_Funny that you're so determined_."  
His whisper shook her, as he trailed his palms down through her clothes to her bare thighs, teasing her like last time.

"_I_ think," he murmured, ghosting her hip bone, "that you _know _what I'm going to try to do. Which is why you've set yourself up to fight me, _mentally _of course."

Chuckling, he pulled her into him, warming her perpetually cold form with the simple movement.  
"But you also know that deep down Granger, _we're the same_. I'm _just_ as stubborn as you are. Just as _mouthy," _he said as he covered her lips, pressing his own to her ear.

"And though you're trying to figure out exactly what it is I intend to do, a small part of you is _terrified _that even if you end up being right, that it's going to _work._ That _Draco Malfoy - _oh, I know you think I'm pathetic – that Draco Malfoy, the 'gutless eel', will actually be able to _get_ to you."

With that he released her, giving her one last caress around her throat as he got up off the mattress.  
Putting back her meal next to her, he walked to the door, considering the gaze she was giving him.

She didn't look fazed, but after living with Lucius Malfoy, faker extraordinaire, he knew better.  
With a final word in, as he was leaning out the door, his theory was proven:  
"By the way, you might want to pick that book up, Granger. It's very old and very valuable."

Her face drained to white;_  
A History Most Foul _lay under the four-poster, in an attempt to stop her from trying to read it again.

Examining him properly for the first time, she only now noticed the shrivelled hand that was hanging off of his belt loops as he shut the door.

{}

The mantra had now become '_He's just trying to rile you.'_

Before it had been, '_Go to sleep.'  
_Repeating it to herself about a million times to no avail had made her reconsider it.

Two days and slumber hadn't taken her: though she wouldn't let the words escape her, she was too paranoid.

This place was dim and desolate with no candles to illuminate it. The window was a sham; after the first day she had been awake, it had always been pitch black.  
Possessing such a dark object, he could be in here anytime he wanted to be, lest she heard the groans of the door opening. And even then, there was magic that could be used so she wouldn't hear it.

The idiot had won again.

It would explain how she never was able to catch him dropping off the endless stuff she was meant to finish. And while she couldn't ever let herself resort to bargaining with him to leave her alone if she _did _finally decide to empty her plate – who could trust in a world like this? – she almost was ready to just eat.

Day _numéro trois_ turned into _numéro quatre_, and on _la jour cinq_, is when she finally did.

Practicing different French verb tenses was when he interrupted her dizzy contemplation, wordlessly dropping off the usual.  
What was strange was that she'd never seen him do it until then.  
What was stranger was what he had added next to the toast and eggs: a stack.

No meaningful look, no acknowledgment was given as he exited. Stunned, it took her a good ten minutes just to stand up, her legs wobbling from their lack of usage. She'd been too maddened by his flaunting of his Hand of Glory to be sane enough to shower.

They were Muggle novels.  
Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, Fyodor Dostoyevsky.  
_The Prince and the Pauper, Great Expectations, The Brothers Karamazov._

Scrawled in annoyingly lovely handwriting in a note on top was:  
_Eat, and I'll feed more than just your stomach's appetite._

"Unbelievable."

_He really is going all out for this,_ she thought. _He was right_, she hopelessly admitted a second later.  
She could either opt to continue her fruitless endeavour to refuse the unexplained 'comforts' she was being granted, or she could simply take them.  
It was truly up to her on whether or not he and his actions affected her in any way shape or form: how could she _ever _warm up to that guttersnipe if she _knew _he was trying to get her to?

Was she willing to find out the answer?

The constant feature of his twisted plan, that pissed her off to no end, was that she was _allowed _free will, however miniscule it was. He had never once taken away the potion, it always rested on the vanity, taunting her. And it was always the same taste and consistency.

She came here used to escaping Voldemort; in her head, it was death or life. She either got away or she didn't.

This wasn't so black and white now. She had a decision to make.

But her mind was now filled with doubts, so many doubts; she _had_ eventually succumbed before this place.  
She was so accustomed to the idea of resisting and 'beating' the dark side before her capture, that when she was starving and tired, she had given in on other moral facets to survive so she wouldn't be.

_Prostituting yourself for a bed? Drugs so it wouldn't hurt so bad? You think that's all worth evading this lunatic and his monkeys? You think you're going to win this time round?_

_If I'm going to lose I may as well make the best of it, right?_

"Right."  
Tentatively grabbing the pile, she brought her spoils over to her sheets.

It took over an hour to devour the giant breakfast somebody had prepared, and as she felt the final gulp push itself past her lungs and down into her esophagus, it was then she desired that he would have added arsenic into it.

In some ways, that hope came true; the poison was rising in her not very long after she settled.  
Was it the shame that made her throw it all back up?

Well the only option left is to leave it alone and escape to a different fiction. All three distracting books later, she was still awake.  
Time sure flies when there's nothing to do but use your eyes and imagination.

The analysation of the pages she'd read offered up topics to dwell upon until morning time. She cursed her hasty actions when left with soup ladled in a bowl but no new story for her to exhaust. The rich fantasies had been a well needed entertainment, but there's only a certain amount of brain power you can spend pondering the similarities of her protagonist's dilemma's to her own mistakes.

An unnatural, alarming high enveloped her when Draco sauntered in the second day after she had finished the 'peace' offerings. And he gave her three more to taste with a satisfied smirk she pretended he hadn't given.

She rang out with a great, sugary, "_Thank you."  
_A facade he saw through, that only served to widen the curves of his mouth.

The idiot had won again.

_No, no he hasn't, _ she reiterated.  
"I get the things I want, and he gets the false satisfaction of pretending I am starting to fall into his trap."  
_Like my pride was worth all that much to begin with._

This time it was Oscar Wilde, Dante Alighieri, and Ernest Hemingway.  
_The Picture of Dorian Gray, Inferno, _and _A Farewell to Arms._

She examined all of them, deciding on Dante's works_, _because the narrative was more complex than the others. It would take longer.  
Regardless, she'd finished it by the time it was nightfall. She only knew that because of the brass clock that hung directly across from her ringing in at midnight.

Staring at the ceiling, she started wondering if this was her own personal version of hell, because who would want to be humiliated and be put in charge of by their teenaged enemy?

One that seemed to be able to sway her in a way he hadn't been before.  
Was it because he'd changed, or was it because her principles had?

She'd made her bed, but now she wasn't sure if she could fall asleep in it.  
_  
_


	4. Dire Consequence

_I don't believe in fairy tales and no one wants to go to hell.  
You've made the wrong decision and it's easy to see. _  
{}

Every morning he woke up sober was alarming.

The automatic expedition of sending fingers below the waist was a ritual he'd never had before. And it was beginning to grate on his sanity.  
Never had the time to explore his hormones fully way back when, once Draco reached his peak, he'd been sent to kill. Plotting a murder destroyed any kind of boner that would have been induced, regardless of who was in his company, regardless of what they were doing to cause it. It was far too much stress.

Lo and behold, though, here he was a slave to his libido, when his adolescence was long past. Making himself cum more times than he wanted to admit, sunrise after sunrise.

Professing his frustrations to Dolohov in a slight of weakness one afternoon of teaching, his mentor had suggested something.  
"Why not get your fix in Knockturn Alley?" he said.  
Pretty witches were always available at a price.  
"It's alright, son, we've all been there," he said. "Every man has done it."

Well, he didn't want to _be_ every other man.  
Draco would never confess what he truly desired, and the final straw was when he found himself wandering near a brothel halfway through a visit to gather supplies in that vile place. That rock bottom point he hit was when he'd decided to seek out Hosterman.  
Or Tobias, as he had insisted he call him. The sleaziest person he surely had ever known, and he'd had his share of a fair few, Tobias was the one who was supplying him with booze and books.

Consuming copious amounts of his favourite poisons blurred the lines in his mind, made the guilt disappear about abusing his body so much so he could enjoy it.  
This annoying habit had started long before _she _had arrived here. But now there rested a remedy just a corridor away, and even if his attraction was non-existent, he'd almost caved once. First daunting when she landed him responsibilities, he found now she was something to concentrate on, a distraction. Still, he needed this routine laid to rest as it still lingered. It could be dangerous.

He'd been feeling as of late, a sick sort of happy. Some smug satisfaction perhaps from doing well, maybe because he had been praised from everyone for reasons he didn't know, he couldn't quite place his finger on the culprit.

Today though, there was nothing to be cheery about. Nothing rest atop the dungeon staircase, a location they'd agreed to keep the spoils hidden. Draco could've gotten past the alcohol part, but he needed the damn books. Suspecting the reason for the lack of goods, confronting Tobias was his only choice now. He got the lucky chance sooner than he'd thought when he'd ended up arriving with Rabatsan and Rodolphus for dinner.

"_You're late with your payment_," his dealer had informed him, grabbing him aside roughly, and hissing in his ear with rancid breath at Draco's interrogation. "That's why you got nothing, son."

"_I see you every damn day_," came the equally aggravated retort. Smoothing his clothing as he freed himself, he gestured to walk to the library for uninterrupted conversation. "This is extremely important, you _know _it is. Because of a single fault you won't deliver? We had a _deal, _didn't we_? _"

"Yeh, _you _get me my money, and _I_ get you what you want. I know you need them muggle novels for something twisted, love, but you don't need no whiskey. I ain't forking over _anything _until I'm paid in full," he retorted, a churlish grin on him.  
Perhaps his manner of speaking would seem cute or endearing to a horny girl, but Draco wanted to mangle his annoyingly perfect features for using incorrect grammar all the time.

Amoral whilst charming, wand deadly and quick, Bellatrix had recruited this man immediately after they'd started looking for newcomers. Quite the asset he'd become in her ranks, most others thought him to be too untrustworthy and hated when he came to visit.  
To the unfamiliar, he had the handsome looks and thick, melodious accent that could deceive even the most distrustful of wizards. A golden tongue that raked him in tons of galleons or fools with bargains and coaxing, Draco had seen him at his worst, and knew better than to fall for it anymore.

He had at the start, buying into his sob stories. Giving him more cash than he asked for, it was a shitty world out there, and because it was a resource to flaunt.  
A mismatch of qualities were what he cried about, being poor _and_ pure; it was _too _rare to be true.

It was now, at this withholding of his desired things that Draco wanted to snap him.  
He lied about his wealth to get more money; fair enough, everybody lies. Fair enough to be tough about the fees too, because he was the one purchasing the materials Draco required, Draco was the customer. But to pretend like he was in desperate need of money was inexcusable because Draco had _seen _the bulging bags of change he hid from the rest of the Death Eaters. Living at headquarters gave you too much information about everyone to think about.

"You're _so_ full of shit, Hosterman."

_"_And_ you_ my boy, are Malfoy spawn. Just as arrogant, just as _irritating_ as dear old dad. He thinks he can control anybody he pleases with the snap of his fingers, don't he?" he mused. "Passed that on to you. Maybe you should stop feeling so sorry for yourself and lose some entitlement."  
Tobias intended to squeeze the Malfoy vault dry until he could move onto the Lestranges. Then he was out of there, he'd gained enough money now to disappear.

Refusing to acknowledge such an insult, Draco ran a hand through his hair, watched the man watching him until he said something.

"Why not give her a magic book, eh?"

"_These_?" Draco's voice broke.  
He pointed to the shelves around him with anger, completely filled to the brim with writings old and new.  
"These are all _useless_! It's all for show. 'Look at me, I own rare stuff nobody gives a fuck about!'. There isn't anyone alive now who wants to stop to read prejudiced peoples memoirs or spell books. Who cares how to use and create impossibly sinister things? About their long, boring as piss history? And if we wouldn't, why would a _mudblood?"_

_"_Why not just inform your pops that you need these things, eh?" Tobias asked pleasantly, standing with his arms crossed.

"You know I can't do that."  
Rigid grey eyes bore into soft brown ones, unfazed by the intensity.

"Because of your hankering for mead, lad? Think it'll display weakness or somethin' to your old man?"

"I would just _prefer _if he didn't meddle within my affairs, or know anything about the details," the boy explained through clenched teeth while continuously cracking knuckles.

"Mm, is it perhaps because the master of the house doesn't _know _you've been extending the family affluence to me?" he inquired, placing a finger to the corner of his mouth and circling Draco. "I'm definitely not on the top of your parents list, they wouldn't like you borrowing to give it all to me. Maybe Lucius noticed some of his treasure gone missin', hmmm?"

He bent down and tilted his head with great condescension. Looking upwards to face his client as if he were a small child.  
"Am I on the right track, Draco?"

"Why should it matter?"  
He was getting ready to yell again, but he thought better of giving himself away until he knew the facts.

"You used to be nice to me, lad, _what happened_? You never been tardy to give me my galleons, you didn't want your fix to be too. I know you have the means, so if that has stopped, it implies that you're having trouble acquiring your fortunes."  
With an eyebrow raise, Draco was just about done.

"What _happened_? People who act humble while exaggerating their trials and tribulations for sympathy are the _lowest _of the _low._ You're a liar and a boy who cries wolf. I may believe that you will keep my discretion, but that's only to save your own hide, not mine. And the only reason left that I even still come to you. Figure out yourself why you're my last resort._"_

Tobias focused his eyes with a patronizing chuckle.  
"Last resort, eh? Have you tried taking it up with _him?_ I think ya might just be miffed that the Dark Lord lets me out to play and he don't trust you enough to, otherwise you could go on your own."

_Goading, he's _goading_ you._  
"Lucius changed the locks, alright? I'm not allowed to go to Gringotts, perhaps I _will _go for a chat. " he tried with feigned indifference. "I don't think that's too much to ask for from '_him'_. But, I find your actions a bit rich. A straight year of providing you with business and this is what you do?"

"I ain't no barkeep, lest you reckon different, Draco. No runnin' tabs for anyone, I've repeated it a thousand times. I want everything up front. I'm cuttin' you off until further notice," Hosterman snarled.

"You can't very well _do _that, it would be rash on your part. I need 'them muggle novels', it's for my _assignment."_

_"'My assignment',"_ Hosterman mocked. "I don't give a rat's squiggly arse. You ain't no big shot because you have to take care of some scrawny, wandless, mudblood. _You ain't nothing."_

"_Get me what I need in two days or there's gonna be hell to pay."  
_The serious expression did nothing.

Snorting derisively, Tobias left Draco alone with an "I dare you to snitch."  
Only serving to light a fuse so lethal the consequence could only be dire.

The slow conditioning Draco had committed to developing in his hostage would have to be interrupted, his stock ran dry tonight. There was no liquor, which he seriously wanted right now, and worse, no F. Scott Fitzgerald or Arthur Conan Doyle. Whoever _they_ were.

They were important to the mudblood, and thus important, in essence, to him. He should be thanking these dead sods greatly, for they enabled him to mold Hermione in ways she wasn't yet aware of.

She had been eating, and she was awake for a lot longer than normal. It was natural now for her to space out her massive meal throughout the day. He noticed too when he came in the mornings that she _was _showering, despite her reluctance after he paraded his artifact.  
Draco crept in on her reading one night, merely to witness her progress. Her arranged expression almost disconcerting because of how genuinely content it seemed. Because of how much better it looked after only 14 days of constant nourishment.

Granger was almost due for another check-up, and he was going to punch that bastards face in if he ruined his schemes. Somehow he thought it was inevitable.  
Hosterman thought his only concern was the liquor, thought him to be an unimportant pawn. But as time would reveal immediately, this idea would prove to be false.

Hermione had left all her food untouched the subsequent sundown.  
Usually there would be scraps, and that was fine; she didn't have a large stomach. But the platter was immaculate. She didn't even toil with consuming it, wasn't yet dependent on it. For now it was strictly a deal. Eat and receive.

How ironic it was that because his first arrangement had failed, his next one did. Maybe paranoia wasn't as good a tactic as he first thought, because it was taking a while to break Hermione's immunity, because there was a possibility she _could _fight the manipulation. But he _knew _forcing her into submission wasn't any better. Without these books, what else would he do?

Twitching like a lunatic, ready to snap Tobias in half, Draco threw wizard memoirs into her room the following day, pretending not to notice her disobedience the previous morning.

When Lucius was distracted, he tried to open the safe under his bed. It was impossible; strong magic without a combination. Whether or not he suspected his son of being the one to blame, whether or not he'd be relieved or peeved it was his own family stealing, Draco didn't want to own up to it. Because his father had noticed, but he hadn't made a scene. Perhaps he was waiting for a confession. Perhaps he didn't even _care_, but he'd definitely wanted to make his pincher feel shame.

Two nights of nothing turned into a week.  
He couldn't bring himself to explain the lack of books, he needed the façade of having control; but he knew she wasn't happy with the replacements.  
She still was eating, but he'd visited her again, and he could read disappointment on her face. Confusion.

Frustrated he was then, a miniscule emotion it was compared to when he went downstairs.  
This day was supposed to be different. He'd left a brown sack of coins. Perhaps three galleons short of the usual price, but that was it, and he could've just left out the booze.  
It was all he'd had left, scrounging through pockets and boxes in his room. Change from birthdays or for allowance, when those were still important life events. The fact that she hadn't eaten riled him up so much he went from livid to desperate, got it together though it took a while.

And yet, the sack was gone and there was nothing left in its wake.  
There was no whiskey or paperbacks, _nothing.  
"A deal's a deal, my ass," _Draco laughed under his breath as he began stomping back to the foyer.

He marched to the corner cabinet, throwing the door opens and pulling empty bottles or trinkets from it, searching for _anything.  
_"Draco, what's the matter?" drawled the last person he wanted to see behind him.

"_Nothing, _father."

"You're fumbling around in here, usually you avoid it like the plague. What are you looking for?"

"_Nothing!" _he barked, cracking a porcelain phial in his grasp before he could set it aside.

"Draco! This cupboard is _all _heirlooms, from generations ago. Get out of there and _tell me _what you want," Lucius instructed gently.

Draco wanted to whip the broken glass at his head.

"_Just don't even worry about it_." Muttering, he shoved the cupboard closed and walked away. "_There's nothing you could do."_

He was paused in his steps before he could leave the room.  
"Did your little package not arrive today?"

Unable to decide on whether he should fight or flee, he waited.  
"You think I don't know about it, son? You can't exactly be the most stealthy when we're both here all the time. Money disappearing, wine bottles in your room? I've been trying to suss out who's been getting it for you, and I've also felt a little sad that you didn't think you could ask me."

Draco spun round, a smirk on his face, his eyes partially glazed.

"How could I ask_ you_ when you criticise everything I do?"

"So you'd sooner resort to _stealing? _As if _that_ wouldn't be something to criticize you for? You've never felt bad about using our money before. And yes, I do consider it _ours _and not mine. You could've asked."

It must've been, Draco rationalized later, must've been a long time coming, because he never meant to fall apart right then.

"Can you _STOP _acting like a fucking martyr!?" he bellowed, yanking his hair with both hands.

"_Draco_ – "

"NO! _You _listen to _me. _Stop bloody speaking to me like I'm 11! I'm not an idiot, and you treat me as if I need constant direction, like I'm incapable of the simplest tasks. What a great sacrifice it is giving me my grandfather's money! Anything you've ever done for me you bring up like I owe you my life and my gratitude. Raising a child is not a _favour_, it's a damn responsibility!"

"How dare you speak to me in that tone! I've raised you far better than most of –"

"HA! _Ha!" _he continued, throwing his arms up in the air. "Your 'parenting skills' are a _joke_. Look at this relationship! I can't even talk to you, I can't even ask you for some damn books! How is that healthy? Every fault I make is like a scar on your damn mind, and your disappointment is more important than how I feel! You've deluded yourself! Pretend that you deserve to be on the high horse you sit on when you're just barely in the graces of _anyone."_

_"Draco, you will apologize for this unnecessary tantrum, and go to your bedroom to let off some steam," _Lucius ordered him, in almost a whisper.

"Tantrum? Oh, if that's what you want, you'll get it, _father. _Let us recap the past, shall we? _You _fail the dark lord miserably twice and _I_ get punished for it," he began, listing. "Our family becomes a joke. I am out of my wits trying to murder Dumbledore because I have to, because don't want him to kill you and _mother, _and myself. Out of some twisted fate I don't die even though I didn't accomplish the task. Out of some twisted fate, we _all _survive and he lets us try to be useful again. I receive _no apology_ from you, and _right_ after Potter gets his, you revert back to how you were before, as if you weren't a pathetic piece of shite at all!"

"_Pathetic?" _Lucius shouted, breathing heavily through his nose. "Where is this all coming from? Why are you so irate right now? Is the mudblood giving you stress, because–"

"It's not the damn mudblood! It's that I hate being _here_. I don't need your fucking help so stop trying to give it!"

"Then what _do _you want!?" he asked, clacking his cane into the ground.

"I want to be out of this _shithole. _The only person I liked was my mother, and _you, _husband of the year, let her walk away! How could you do that?"  
Draco had gotten in his face, they were the same height, knowing he hated invasion of personal space.

"She hasn't walked away, she's in –"

"Spain? Yeah, she goes off somewhere every month, shows up for an afternoon again and then _leaves. _Some marriage," he spat. "Some family."

Lucius hardened his eyes, refusing to stare at his sons.  
"You're upset because you feel abandonment, but wouldn't you rather her be there than –"

"Don't _tell _me how I fucking feel! You did absolutely _nothing, _no pleading or grovelling, even _requesting _that she stay. I'm selfish, of _course _I'd rather her be here. Of course I don't want her to leave! She broke my damn heart when I begged her not to go and she still did. You _let_ her walk out of our lives because you didn't have the courage to find out if she would do the same. You're a bloody coward!"

Lucius' normally calm face had now contorted into something far too otherworldly to describe.

"Why do you need the books, Draco?"  
The words escaping his mouth sounded off.

"They're for Granger," he put a hand out dismissively.

"Did you hide _that _from me because you think I'd try and tell the Dark Lord? The alcohol because you think I'd belittle you?"  
Lucius placed a hand on his sons shoulder. It was promptly shaken off.

"You don't care about me, Lucius. Not anymore. Stop pretending. You're broken too, and tell yourself you aren't. I think the reason I'm so pissed off all the time is because you act like you're so much better than I am, in so much better condition. You act like nothing affects you, and I know it does. And you're _jealous. _Instead of _proud _of me. Because fact of the matter is, you are wifeless, your son hates you, and the Dark Lord likes him better. It _kills _you that you can't know why that's happened because I won't confide in you the reasons."

"_Stop _right_ now, before –_ "

"You'd probably just slag me off and try to tell the Dark Lord that it was all your idea any– "

Draco felt several teeth fall out as he recoiled, too surprised to feel pain, watching the remorse fill his father as the realization that he'd hit his own son came in.  
Rubbing his mouth, blood pouring out in scores, he grinned.

The punch caused a catalyst of events.

Draco drew up his sleeve.  
Lucius shrunk back in panic.

Pointing the tip of his wand to the tattoo, and before the cry of 'NO!' could finish echoing off the ceiling, Lord Voldemort was in their midst. Stepping out of his black smoke cloud handling his snake tenderly.

Unlike the last encounter Draco had with him, he was not very pleased.  
"You're very lucky that I have finished feeding Nagini, because you both should know I dislike very much being called upon at this time of day. Now, _who _summoned me?"

"_I_ did, my lord," Draco bowed, a trail of red staining his shirt once he stood straight. "And I sincerely apologize for disturbing your plans, but I would not have called you if it wasn't urgent."

It was then that he noticed bruised knuckles and swollen lips.  
"Have you stricken your own _son, _Lucius? After you expressed your concern about him only a week ago?"

"Concern? _Ha!_" Draco hissed, wiping his face so it was streaked with scarlet.

"He was _provoking _me, my lord, to a point where I could not stop him with speaking. I regret it."

"_Provoking you? _Have you no control of yourself? Perhaps you should worry more about your faults before you begin condemning Draco's actions, hm? Now, _leave." _

Opening his mouth, and shutting it when nothing came out, Lucius strode away with fervent vigour, wanting to kick Draco's legs from under him as a satisfied simper spread cross his face.

"Don't look so smug, if he's going to act juvenile, I will treat him as such. Why have you called me?"  
Toying with his wand, the Dark Lord stared at this young man, annoyed yet intrigued.

"I will be frank. The mudblood hadn't been eating, my lord. I enacted a plan to give her something she couldn't resist in exchange for her compliance. Books. _Muggle _books precisely. I couldn't get them myself, so I asked Tobias to get it for me, informed him of their magnitude in the development. I must confess that I've been asking him to acquire alcohol for the past year as well. My dear father is angry because -"

"Why is Lucius important in this?" Voldemort asked with narrow eyes.

"Because Tobias wouldn't get me the books or drink without payment. And the only place to get galleons is from the family vault, which I also am restricted access. I'd been taking money from Lucius' safe once I ran out of money, and I had been for a while now. I'd been consistent with the payment, and because I was late last Monday, he did not deliver me what I need. No alcohol is fine, but no books means no progress."

"And you didn't inform Lucius because you felt he would reprimand you?"  
He stood tilting his head quizzically; Draco had caught his full attention now.

"No, I never wanted to ask him initially. Mostly because he would have tried to interfere, tell me what to do or control how I was going to do it. Possibly try to pry about my plan."

"Surely you could have asked me to set something up for you? Maybe give you permission to disapparate, Draco? Or at least go out with a guide, seeing as you've never been to the muggle world. _If it's this important_," he scolded, a bit perplexed.

"My lord, I didn't want to bother you about something so trivial when I had the means to arrange it myself. I was elated that you seemed pleased at my first success. And you are very busy, I don't believe I've earned the privilege to call you at will like this. But Hosterman refuses to help me now without money, and he suggested I take it up with you."

"He suggested it, hm? Now, the books…they are to condition her in some way, then?"

"Make her dependent on their arrival. Reading is the only thing she has to do in that room. And she needs to eat to make her healthy by getting nourishment she desperately needs."

"You told me she was intelligent, though, wouldn't she refuse this arrangement?" the Dark Lord thought aloud. "Why make her completely healthy?"

"It's a bit complicated to explain now, but trust me it's part of the deconstruction process. If she's always near death, she can't actually worsen can she?"

"And her agreeance to the arrangement?"

"She knows what I'm trying to do to her, I informed her that I was aware she does as well. I've given her options, and she's afraid of them. She could resist the books, the food, but what would that do in the long run? She's terrified that accepting the comforts and bargains I offer will affect her in the way she _thinks _I mean them. But ultimately decided to try and see if she can evade their influence."

_Perhaps the boy is more cunning than I considered, _crossed Voldemort's mind as he fingered his face quizzically.

"One moment, Draco. I do believe your story, and trust me when I say Lucius is in hot water. I've told him not to treat you in such a way as he has been. However, I am a fair man, it's only reasonable to speak to Hosterman before we throw him under the rug."

Happy that he was 'sympathetic' to his plight, Draco stood waiting as the Dark Lord disappeared again, returning ten minutes later with Tobias, who appeared solemn as he stood next to him.

"Now that we're all here... Draco, Tobias has told me you did _not _inform him of what you were using the book for."  
Hosterman leered at his pawn, making a mental note to thank Bellatrix for uptalking him all the time. Silly boy was going to get what was coming.

"No, I didn't, my lord. I – "

Voldemort held up his hand, causing Tobias' lips to widen with glee. What came next wiped away all expression.

"You informed him of how _important _they were, yes. Just testing to see how honest you are. Tobias, I think you should work on your occlumency, you didn't even seem to realize I was reading your mind."  
His face went from pleasant peach to pale white.

"Did you forget that I was capable of it? You should be more aware of my grandiose, Tobias. Surely having been a descendant of Grindelwald, you would be. It's such a shame, because you are normally very satisfactory. However, it comes off as a little _disgusting," _the Dark Lord hissed, "that you would force Draco to pay for your help. Force _any _colleague. You don't have any current missions, and especially since Draco chose you to be included in his very first task, an important one, over his own kin. I've given you a rare permission, haven't I?"

"He called me a last resort!" Tobias implored.

"Answer my question."

"Yes, my lord, I do have the permission. But he never appreciated it once, he's –"

"You know how senseless the rest of his family is. Considering you've lied to many people for money, you must have enough of it by now that you wouldn't withhold something as trivial and cheap as _books _from somebody who has earned the right to do his job properly."

"M-my lord – "

"I don't _care _if you fool idiots, Tobias. I don't care what you do with your spare time. But I _know _Draco has invested all of his toiling over this. And you have _ruined _some of his progress."

"M-my lord, he's always d-drinking, I didn't think he n-needed it so b-badly and-"  
Tobias had dropped to his knees, Draco had his arms folded, internal happiness masked with a serious visage.

"You are quite the performer, aren't you? Have I not just said I don't care what you do with your spare time? Draco can drink if he still works. He also has not once insulted you, and yet you are trying to convince me your argument by pointing out his flaws? How rude, shouldn't you show the few who deserve it respect? Tsk tsk," he scolded, raising up his arm. "_Crucio."_

The man lay ragged and retching on the ground, after receiving a solid minute of the curse, barely breathing.

"Draco, consider yourself his superior now. I admire your nerve to confront me, and that should be rewarded. I'm rather sick of being faced with such snivelling weaklings all the time. I will grant you _his _permission of apparition. To get books once a week, and to visit Gringotts as well. But only those two areas. If I find you've abused it, you know what to expect. _You, _get up and get out of my _sight._ You are repulsive._"_

And as Tobias glared daggers walking out the front door to find some way to get home, Draco thought it was the end of it.

{}

She hadn't had a visit in three weeks.  
A proper one, anyways.  
Sometimes she would be awake to witness his head bob in, his arm extended with the tray, the subtle clunk of metal on wood the only reminder that she wasn't insane. Because after he left, then she was alone.

It wasn't that she missed him, it was that she missed company.

And it was a frightening thought that she'd actually hoped he'd come back soon to mess with her head just so she could argue with him. Just so she didn't have to listen to her own thoughts or her own words.

Hermione couldn't stop coming up with theories on everything; everything he was doing, and if his plans were working in the way he'd planned.  
Mostly, she desperately wanted to ask him about the switch of genres in the books; was it because that's all he owned? Did he miss a day on purpose, or did he forget to bring her them? Maybe he ran out of _good_ literature. And why would he have those authors _anyways_ in the first place_?_

Today though, she had a momentary distraction from insanity; who _was_ that in the mirror?

Why was her hair curled, bouncy even, and why did she look well rested?

It startled her so much she glided off the bed to saunter towards the vanity. Last time she checked herself out, it was the day she'd first awoken, after _he'd_ grazed her body in fiendish ways.

Was it the food? The potion? Showers? Maybe a combination of all three.

Poking at freckles, examining the pink traces on her skin, her mouth, and ignoring the dead look about her eyes, she tugged off her worn out slip. There were less bones to see, her collar actually had flesh around it. Her stomach was smooth, less concave. And her breasts must have been a size bigger.

Cupping them with odd fascination, somebody was suddenly rustling with the lock.  
Sprinting back to the sheets, she dove in, wondering how she could be so foolish when he came in every day at the same time. She heaved a sigh as she _had_ made it under the covers, spying his boot. Wait...

Since when did he have spikes on them? Since when did he wear shoes indoors?

"So, _you're _the one they've all been talking about, eh?"

It wasn't Malfoy.

_It wasn't Malfoy._

If the intruder hadn't looked deranged, she might've been relieved or hopeful that she had a chance to escape.  
But as he drew out a switchblade from his gloved hand, she knew she was horribly wrong.

Spotting a body on the ground in the hall, she had no time to scream.


	5. Vile

**_(Possible Trigger) Warning: This chapter is _very_ graphic._**

_Caught up in this madness too blind to see, woke animal feelings in me.  
__Took over my sense and I lost control, i'll taste your blood tonight._

_{}_

"_Oh, _my little gosling, why scream? Don't you know these walls keep all our secrets?" the strange man whispered, pressing the knife so gently against her throat.  
He'd locked the door, and was presently pulling all her hair into one fistful, forcing her head back to expose her neck.

Hermione fought the urge to swallow, knowing for sure the grazing blade would cut it if she dared. He wiped the single droplet that trailed down her cheek as he used his free hand to ghost the back of his knuckles down her body, removing the blanket that was covering her naked shape with excruciating leisure.

"_Mm, _were you expecting to have some love-making this morning? Draco have you wrapped up under his thumb like that, eh?"

Too frozen to move, she closed her eyes to block out the feel of his breath on her, and the sound as it increased in pace when his fingers reached the last places she wanted them to be. She knew what was probably coming next, it was a familiar road that she'd treaded down too many times before.

But the disgusting liar surprised her: he removed the weapon, proceeding to push her harshly forwards. Her face was smothered and she was on her knees. He didn't let go of her curls as he tied her hands with magic, she felt them secure tightly behind her back.

"_No _fight_ left in you? That Malfoy idiot really must be having it easy."  
_The next thing she felt were legs bracing hers, and something hot and hard against her arse that was unwillingly elevated.

He yanked so her skull laid against his chest, frightening brown eyes boring into her own with an alarming smile.  
"_What are you doing here?" _she managed to whimper, as he started to trace her breasts tenderly.

Pinching her nipples, he waited until she was squirming and moaning to stroke the lowest part of her, seeing if she was turned on.

"I'm here for petty revenge, darlin'. And by the feel of things, I think you may _like it," _he whispered, dipping a finger lightly in her.

"_I won't! Leave me alone!" _she shouted, wriggling furiously, earning her a hard slap.

"Perhaps you _are_ a bit feisty. Thank yer keeper for this intrusion, love. Ya know them books he been giving you? I'm the one who's been getting' them. Malfoy ain't as in control as he likes to show you. He was late in his payment. 'N then got cross about me refusing him my services, instead of coughing it up like a man. Whined to the Dark Lord about it and got me privileges taken away. So _now," _he hissed, replacing his index at her chest with his dagger, "I want to show that bastard he's not as high and mighty as he thinks. By using the one thing he can't afford to have _messed _with."

Trying for any kind of self-preservation or honour was useless.  
"_P-please," _she trembled, "_don't. A-and if you _will_ hurt me, just kill me. Get it over with now, please."_

"_I don't think that's how it works," _he growled, piercing the tender tissue with the tip. One small, painful incision.

Her shriek withered away and was masked as he covered his palm over her lips, letting her hair free. This position was reminiscent of when her _real_ captor had been in the same one a while ago; a vast difference it was, cuts compared to massages. Funny how the fear felt the exact same.

Playing with the blood running down her front, over the wound, he dripped some onto his tongue .  
"You don't _get_ what you want, you pathetic _mudblood_," he spat, drops of red now splattered onto her face. "Disgusting."

The intense coursing pain combined with the shock of what he'd just done was too much; she began to cry.

"_Stop blubbering, it won't sway me."  
_He jabbed a nail into the torn cut, wedging it further til she was screaming in complete agony.

_"You're so _weak_."_  
He stood up and shoved Hermione downwards again, so she was almost suffocating. Edging the end of his wand up the curve of her spine, past the bend of her arse, he circled her entrance before inserting inside her.

"_No, NO!" _she screeched, wobbling her body pitifully.

"That's right, _scream. _I like knowing how helpless you are, how useless you _feel_," he roared into her ear, pulling it out and pushing it back in, over and over and over.

She couldn't help the guttural groans escaping her throat, the relentless prodding horrible and agonizing, the wood stiff and uncomfortable. Reminding her the noise she was making, in a twisted way, of ones similar to when having an intense orgasm.

"Yeah, you're getting wet, you _enjoy_ this you dreadful cunt," he berated, a sick grin on his face.

"_Please, _please!"  
She was sobbing into the blanket, contemplating on whether or not she should just hold her breath to finish herself off once and for all.

But Hosterman noticed she'd stopped moving after another excruciating minute, and with one final drive, he left it in there before jerking her unruly tresses up, face red and stained with wet.

"Oh, _no_, kitten, you can't be doing that. I'm the boss right now, and I decide on if I let you live or not," he cooed, moving in front of her, unzipping his pants so the bulge that had formed could breathe.

"_You're despicable_," she uttered with the most disdain he had probably ever heard.

"And you have a pretty mouth for such an insignificant _whore_."  
Hermione barely got a peek at his cock before she was tasting it, before she was choking on it as he thrust it down her throat.

With cruel rigid fingers he was grasping her scalp and plunging himself into her mouth. If she sat backwards she'd push his wand in, and her hands were bound; he was going so fast she couldn't move.

Mercifully, it didn't take long for his release to come: "_Drink it up."_

The tone of his voice suggested harsh punishment if she disobeyed. The hot seed filled over her taste buds, the flavour unpleasant as she quite literally swallowed her pride.

"Yes, I like when you're a good little bitch," he praised her, leaning over and spanking her. "Ready for another go?"

Shoulders heaving as she lay forwards with no ability to escape this, she shook her head with her eyes locked tight.

"No? Need a bit of a rest, do you?"  
Tobias clutched her arms, relieving her of the stiff oak so he could toss her against the pillows. Launching himself on the mattress, he crawled up to her once his trousers were fully off and pointed the knife at her navel, trailing it down to her legs, tapping them so she spread them wide.  
"There's ain't no rest for the wicked," he grinned, watching this fragile woman break under his gaze.

Slowly her thighs opened per his request, and her gasps became uneven and hysterical as he dragged the point to her clit.  
"_Beg me to fuck you."_

His command only came with a look of terrified disbelief.

"You heard me right, yeh. Unless you wanna say bye bye to _this," _ he nudged her sensitive spot with the blade, and made her quiver, "_beg me."_

She'd run out of tears and ran out of reason.  
"_Fuck me. Fuck me, please," _ she whispered, deciding to stare at him directly.

"You not foolin' anybody with them lovely peepers, darlin'. That weren't a defiant stare, you are _full_ of fear. You're under my command."  
He threw the knife on the ground, and waved an incantation so her limbs were rigid and kept wide. Stowing the wand at the end of the bed, he grabbed her neck with one hand and the other snaked under her bottom so she was lightly elevated.

Hermione could only thank her deplorable stars that he wasn't very big. It had been a while since she'd felt the sensation of a new lover, having to adjust to their girth and technique. So she became sore quickly, and it only became worse when he had all the grace of an unruly animal, mindless in his movements, almost mechanical.  
She supposed it was the point, this was retribution, and she was meant to suffer. But she admitted quietly within her mind that this horrid shag wasn't nearly as bad as the gash he'd given her, which in of itself was a testament to how fucked up and around she had become.

Grunting unattractively, he gave up after a bout of exertion that seemed to take an eternity to the 'recipient'. And he was frustrated.  
"You're used to being a dried up, used up streetwalker, aren't yeh? This isn't even bothering you. How _boring._"

He pulled out of her, to her great relief, only to have her reprieve interrupted again as he took his half hard prick and shoved it into her mouth.  
"Yeah, you like this better uh?"

The second time felt much worse than the first, bruises cascaded and spreading down into her lungs by now. He was standing up on the sheets, her body still forcefully limp. Yanking her by the ears into deep-throating his cock, she wondered when this would end, this horrible nightmare.  
"_Maybe we should take this up a notch_," he moaned.

One moment he had smashed her head against the headboard, but at least she was able to inhale a deep breath. Bright spots clouded her vision before she could see, and the next moment she felt a stabbing pain; he'd sliced her _tongue _clean through_._

Traumatized might be the right word to describe her state afterwards, as he continued to thrust himself into her, blood splattering _everywhere_ as the pressure made each passing second worse, and the distress almost enough to make her become unconscious.

"_Yeah," _he wailed in pleasure, smacking her tits with his wand, with the edge of his switchblade while he persistently plunged, "_Oh, fuck yes."_

"_You're fucking dead, you vulgar _worm_!"_

The universe seemed to halt as Hermione found a break in her torture to focus on a blonde man who growled the sentence, eyes wide with wrath of which she'd rarely seen before.  
The intruder stopped what he was doing to look aghast in horror as the person he had stunned and severely maimed was perfectly fine, save for a few smatterings of red on his dress shirt.

The prisoner watched in mute horror as the man violating her tore away from her, and tried to swing round to fire a spell at her captor, a fool's errand.  
"_Avada Kedavra."_

With a final thunk, Tobias Hosterman was no more. He fell defeated onto the ugly floral blanket leaving Hermione's ragged breathing the only sound in the room.

Draco sauntered over to the two bodies wordlessly.  
"_Filthy bastard."  
_He spat on the corpse's face.

Then, looking up he noticed Hermione's tense state, her drooping expression indicating exhaustion and possible near-death. Snatching the wand and weapon, he flicked his arm at her without staring so she had autonomy over herself again. She pushed her legs together for some kind of decency and wriggled her hands so they too would be free.

He moved next to her cutting the rope, watching her rocky state while hoping that her gasping would steady. But it only became worse.

"Stay put."

Unsure of what exactly the cost of his actions were, he feverishly made his way down the hall to his own chamber, where he had healing potions stocked, ones for immediate effect. Grabbing the most potent, costing a near fortune, all the options of what he would say to the Dark Lord ran through him as he got back to _her.  
_Surveying the damage on her skin, he tried not to vomit, and was surprised that she hadn't yet.

Blood dripped from everywhere it shouldn't. Out of her mouth, between her legs, from her nipples.

"Drink this – _drink it," _he yelled, when she hesitated, resorting to forcing it down her throat quickly.

Standing back, he watched as the wound on her breast mended itself into a neat scar, the second-hand nicks disappearing altogether. Yelping, she twitched at the odd feeling of her tongue cauterizing, fingering it once the healing was over to see if it had actually worked.

"I'm going to move _this_ out of here. You're going to feel very hot, it's your immune system working into overdrive. I'll be back with your food and books, alright. The proper ones you like, so – "

"_How dare you?" _she croaked.

The statement and the harshness of it caught him off guard as he shoved his old dealer off the bed.

"How dare I do _what_?"

"You _let _him in here, let him _rape me, _let him _touch me. _And you're not going to say anything about it? Not going to explain it, or apologize? You're going to leave me ALONE AGAIN!" she screeched, finding some strength to stand up.

Draco was suddenly frightened. And he wasn't quite sure why.

"He was getting you your books, Granger. And decided he would stop, which obvoiusly was the wrong action to take. I'm allowed to get them now, it's never going to happen again, alright? Problem solved, so –"

"AGAIN!?" she bellowed, leaning over and punching him in the eye feverishly. "Problem _not_ solved_! _How could you let it happen _once!? _Some Death Eater you turned out to be, you can't even keep someone out of a locked room!"

He grabbed her wrists and wrenched her away, trying and failing to hide his shock. Her fist had actually hurt.  
"He knocked me out and broke my arms."

"He shoved a switchblade into my mouth followed by his _cock_. He violated me with his wand! I don't bloody care about your injuries!"  
He could tell she was frustrated he didn't look very affected. But he couldn't let himself.

"Well, alright then. You don't have to. But I can't do anything right now except heal you."

"Heal me? What about healing my mind? Are you that far gone into subservience that nothing disturbs you anymore?!"

Subservience? _No. Sit!"_

"No!" she screeched, hitting him in the belly nonstop. "You've turned into _him! _Nothing distresses you anymore!"

"Granger! Don't say that. There's no use in getting angry. He's fucking _dead _now. Nobody else will ever come in h- _ah, fuck! _Don't _make _me force you back!" he growled through clenched teeth, she'd grabbed his throat and scratched it.

"Do it! Just fucking _kill _me," she cried, sinking into a heap on the floor. Through her hands that covered her face, she sniffled. "_Just kill me."_

"No."  
She peeked up at him, granting him the same look of loathing she'd given Tobias.

"Then _leave!"_

"You don't want to be alone but you want me to go? You're not making any sense!"

"I want to be fucking be rid of all this!" she seethed, eyes wide with tears and rage. "You probably planned this, didn't you? You probably pissed him off intentionally so he'd try and get in here to hurt me! If he can't go out of here and you can now, you must've wanted that privilege! _How could you be so depraved?"_

Nothing he'd ever heard before had ever stricken him as more insane as that statement. The logic pulled from nowhere. And it was then he felt a small smirk wanting to trace onto his lips, but he refrained until he could leave.

"I wouldn't _do _that, you stupid girl! I know that _forcing_ you to do anything isn't real dominance."

"But you came in here that first day and threatened me with the same thing. You took me into the shower, and you touched me. I was too frightened and shocked to tell you to stop. Were you somehow hoping that I'd think you _rescued _me from him this time? Just because you weren't as brutal doesn't mean you weren't using sex as a weapon! You're playing mind games with me, how can I believe a word you say?"

He pulled up his sleeve, his right one, not left, and cleared his throat.

Hermione glanced up with a glassy gaze and saw the pale flesh scrabbled with scratches.  
"_Secretem manifestes," _he murmured.

It must've been powerful magic. Like some kind of hideous safe, a scarlet cavity grew in his forearm to reveal a brass key. He grabbed it from his body, sticky with fluid, and then bent down, placing it in front of her face.  
"I'm the only person who could _possibly _get this door open. Can access the key. it's embedded into my _skin. _Every time I unlock it, I make sure I put it back in this fleshwound before I visit you. This room has the most powerful magic cast on it, by the Dark Lord himself. In fact, he marked this lovely thing into me. That imbecile hit me on the head when I was coming in here, and didn't have the nerve to end me when he should've. But I don't have that problem. And after tonight, when I explain it all to snake-face, he's going to protect me further because I was in the right in killing him, extending the safety to you, my _prisoner. So don't you fret."_

Putting it back for safe keeping, the skin around the hole reformed, congealing blood and bones, the smell nauseating. She looked over to see Hosterman with his eyelids drooping, still half naked, still covered with her blood.

Bile rose to her throat and she puked, everything that had just happened and everything she'd witnessed finally taking over her senses to the point where it was an unstoppable reaction.

Draco picked the carcass up, regretfully slinging it over his shoulder.  
"I'll get you some new clothes too."

And then he was gone.  
_They _were gone.

And he hadn't actually confirmed whether or not her crazy idea, that it was intentional, was the truth or madness.

{}

He couldn't really say aloud that he was ecstatic about the events that had happened. But he wanted to.

Bellatrix was in complete disbelief that her beloved friend would willingly have his way with someone lesser than pure. Her nephew relished in the stern talking to she'd received from the man she worshipped, and the apology she'd given him afterwards as if she were a thoroughly embarrassed disobeying child.

Lucius was in complete disarray that Tobias managed to break into the Manor without apparition. Somebody he hated had mangled his only son, and he wasn't there to help. Perhaps there was lingering guilt on his soul from his attack a few weeks ago, perhaps his son enjoyed the fact that he was stricken with it.

Voldemort was obviously furious that Draco had murdered follower, especially in front of _her._ However, the boy was more intelligent than his leader realized. And he saved himself with ease:

_"My lord, I do apologize for the loss. If he was willing to compromise the missions, though, isn't it better he is made an example?"_ The Dark Lord had said nothing, so he continued._ "If it's any consolation, the mudblood is in constant distress now. Hosterman's visit made her think that I'd _planned _it. That I somehow wanted him to hurt her._ _She's always alert, always afraid to sleep now. It's not how I wanted her to get there, to that state. She's there, though. Faster than the schedule. I can still use my methods and probably achieved the desired effect."_

Voldemort could easily argue with that reasoning. But, especially since the dead had disobeyed only days before, it wasn't worth toiling over any punishment when the girl had been herself. Looking her over the next day of the explanation from Draco, he confirmed what he'd said was true. And _that_ was the end of it.

The Malfoy heir knew that Hosterman had gotten what he deserved. _They_ all did, in fact. It was inevitable he'd eventually screw up, he couldn't control himself when it came to preserving pride.

Hermione snapped not from Draco's doing, it was from that bastards. Yet he still felt the satisfaction he probably shouldn't, but felt he deserved. Now there was nothing he could do that would be worse to her, he'd never curse her like that or touch her if she told him she didn't want it.  
She was paranoid. She was restless.

That's why he wanted to grin when he saw her slump on the ground; he'd been successful.  
That's why he experienced, for the first time in his life, a sensation of being practically untouchable.

That's why, when he woke up in the morning distastefully sober, he made his first mistake.  
It had been nearly a fortnight since the incident.

He'd been at his destructive routine again, and having slept in, it was almost time for the daily meal. And punctuality was part of the plan he was once again trying to implant. So when he stood up, still half hard, he walked to his now overstocked liquor cabinet and chugged half a bottle of whiskey (it never did burn his throat like everything else to choose from.) Then he got dressed.

Suddenly, he wasn't making his way to the kitchen, he was staggering to the room. Grasping the key with difficulty, he shuffled in.

_"You're early…"  
_She couldn't help remark in surprise.

"You're not asleep."

Blurry she was in his vision, he found himself thinking that he liked the way she looked vulnerable.

"It's nearly 9, why would I be?" she questioned with forced courage.  
Something seemed off.

"You are fuly immersed in dreams half the days, Granger," he commented, walking over to the bed where she rested over the covers.

Summer had come, and it was appallingly hot.  
"A-and? I can barely have a nap nowadays. Why don't you have food….?"

"Oh, _ha_," he chuckled, "Guess I forgot to go get it."

"What's the matter with you, you're – _are you drunk?"_ A look of horror crossed her expression, and Draco smiled sheepishly.

"Maybeeee, a bit," he giggled, gesturing the 'a bit' with his fingers.  
He collapsed onto the other side of her, motioning for her to get in between his legs.

She noticed him giving her the onceover, and stiffened. Her slip was black and sheer, out of the others it was most comfortable in the heat. Her stomach plummeted with apprehension.

"C'mere, Granger. Sit on my lap," he slurred, reaching out to caress her arm.

"No. Just go away, Malfoy."  
She refused to even look at him after her had grabbed her, hoping he'd come to his senses and realize what he was doing.

"Oh, shush. You like it," he purred, wrapping his arms round her middle and lifting her onto him.

"No, I _don't. _Let me go," she commanded, wiggling in his grip, repeating in her head not to start weeping again.

She had been every night. But, though not exactly a small favour, Draco wouldn't hurt her in the way any other Death Eater would. So he wasn't worth her tears, wasn't worth giving him the victory he'd surely celebrate.

He gracefully drew off her nightdress, almost triggering bad memories in her mind, before she blinked and exhaled to stop herself from thinking them.  
Now his hands were on her back again, rubbing her neck, pressing her shoulder blades, kneading her all over. And it felt too good.

"Do you enjoy massaging or something?" she tried, stifling moans with words. If she kept talking, maybe he'd realize what he was doing.

"_Yeah, _I do," he admitted, licking down her spine, and kissing back up to her nape.

Hermione shivered, finding herself short of breath when she heard him emit the smallest of groans.  
"And I especially like massaging you, Granger. I adore how much you try to pretend like you _don't_ love the feeling."

"_You're vile_."

It was barely a whisper.  
His fingers skated to her waist, and before she had time to register, she was quickly being spun around so she straddled him, and then pushed so she lay on the sheets. Her head was almost off the end, and her thighs were being held open.

"_No, no, _this _is vile."_

Dull ache and delicious arousal filled her as his tongue grazed her slit, teasing her clit. It wasn't sloppy- it was oddly tentative, and it was gentle. It _was_ vile.

She wanted with every fibre of her being to yell at him to stop. Instead, a loud moan escaped her, and her face blushed pink instead. Thrashing her lower body, his grip only grew tighter, slithering his hands to her hips to steady her. Hitting him with her feet, pulling blonde hair out of his skull, maybe he'd realize what he was doing.

He lapped at her faster, harder, making her feel delirious as his slid one finger inside and fingered her in time with his licks on her now swollen clit.

It was as if he'd set fire to her spirit, it was the first time in a long time she'd felt anything besides dread. A voice inside her was screaming at her that she had to tell him to stop. Before she confessed to herself that he was better at this than she wanted, better at this than the boy she loved was. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes and she was already so aroused she felt fit to burst.

And thinking that she'd never have Ron again in this way, was enough of a push for finality.

"_Uh, no, stop. Fuck, fuck. _Draco, stop_!"_

Painfully close, it was the word 'no' that finally caused him to return to reality, and he pulled back from her before she could cum.

Standing up, he left her uncomfortable and horny, as he slowly walked to the door.  
"There, that's all you had to say and – " he stopped short. "_You enjoyed it, didn't you?"_

It was almost desperation she thought she recognized in his inflection. She could've been still dazed.  
"Go. Away."

"You did. Good."

Something still was off in the way he left with no smile on his face. But still, the idiot had won again.  
_He was waiting until the end to prove to you he could get you off. And then he wouldn't finish just to punish your insolent little heart._

She didn't move at all, completely angry with her actions, for a long time. She gave in eventually, rubbing herself to climax so she could finally relax.

To add insult to injury, the food never came. Anguish and foreplay really worked up an appetite.

{}

He sat by the lake, wondering why he'd done it.

Of course he _knew _why he'd done it, but why _her?_

Luckily he was so good at manipulation that he worked the outcome to his favour. But it might not end up the same if he was rash enough to do it again, if he did continue on.

_And yet…._no, he wouldn't acknowledge the truth that had popped into his mind. He _couldn't._

Headache from a hangover, and a decree that he was staving off alcohol for a while so he'd have to wait out the pain, he stretched out on the bank and stared into the pools of clear water, loathing the reflection he saw.

Unable to fall asleep, he laid down until the stars came out, and got up to change location only when a haughty voice had started to call for him, and the footsteps came too close.


	6. Make Me Want To Die

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay – been super busy with university! If you found the previous chapter unpalatable and unpleasant, I wanted this fic to be vastly different from my others, and was in a morbid mood when I started it. Take it or leave it, loves.**

* * *

_For the way I condescend and never lend a hand, my arrogance is making this head buried in the sand.  
For the souls I forsake; I am going to hell.  
Married to the devil, you can hear the wedding bells._

{}

He wanted to fuck her.

It was a plain and simple fact that plagued him now daily, after he had gotten his first sweet taste. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but ignoring this feeling might possibly be worse than death.

Day after day she looked healthier in appearance. For some reason she was obeying the rules, and she hadn't been crying. Maybe her resolve had been strengthened after experiencing such weakness. Mostly, he suspected she was just jaded, comatose from the shock of what had befallen her, and was going to live out her existence ignoring reality if he wouldn't let her die.

Though he felt his sanity slowly slipping along with his prisoner, he wished that his morality was completely evaporated with it. Despite him telling the other vile followers that he refrained from doing anything to her if she didn't want it. The reasoning so some false trust could be created between them, it was a _lie_. He would never turn into a Tobias Hosterman; even if he was despicable, he wasn't a monster.

Truth was, he constantly dreamt about her moaning, of her giving herself to him fully, succumbing to his will because it felt _good. _Isn't that was _true _power was? Isn't that true dominance?

"Why the fuck am I even thinking about this."

Rolling off his sheets, which were warm and damp from his shame, he rubbed his tired eyes, catching his reflection in the gilded mirror across his bed.

There was only darkness in his demeanour, circles under and over his lids, lines furrowed his brow. A lifelessness in his skin was covering his whole body; a mask.

Funny how they called it _pure_.  
Funny how a brush of the hair, a suit, and a wand could guise somebody to set the appearance of control and prestige.

He didn't want to go for his morning stroll, not presently.  
Feeling the cold of the wood floor in the early hours touch the underside of his feet, the only sound in the room was a sharp exhale. Determination that he'd had a few months ago might've been dissolving. Each step he took was like a lead brick, the tattoo of the movement echoing in his head. He was in constant pain; hunger lingered perpetually in his stomach the way his head always ached. Nothing sated him like whiskey, but he wasn't about to make that same mistake.

Instead he focused on the daily meal was levitating behind him as he trudged down the hallway. There was always toast and marmalade, because _she_ liked toast and marmalade. It was the only thing that was left in crumbs on the many plates arranged on the tray, was the only thing always empty besides the potion.

He wondered if she'd be awake when he got there, if she would pass him that same look of loathing he seemed to reassure in her, or if she would be asleep as she always was.

Today he had Dumas, Austen, and Tolkien in his grasp, uncaring of their cultural significance, uncaring if they'd make her happy. Because he was unable to get out of her head, and couldn't.

He was miserable.

{}

Every day when _he_ slithered inside her floral-filled cell, she was awake. Her body told her she had to be alert just in case that it wasn't.

But more than a month had passed since the incident, a few weeks since he invaded her soul. There hadn't been a proper visit since then, there had been nary a word.

_Is he in trouble? _She often pondered when she was alone.

This responsibility he'd been granted – a human life – was something she thought he'd have messed up much sooner. And he had, hadn't he? She was still baffled about that day and its consequence. More so because she expected more security, instead of actually being harmed. She expected damage.  
A dead, pureblood corpse holding a knife to her throat flooded in and out of her mind when she was at 'rest'.

And all these niggling, terrible things that she'd experienced should have made her _worse _than she appeared. But the truth was that she was so fixated on why she lingered here, she was so fixated on _him, _because she didn't understand how he was still in charge.

Why wasn't she in the hands of Lucius, or Bellatrix now?  
And more to the point; did she _want _to be?

It was an answer she refused to look into, drowning herself in the books, drowning her brain in fiction when she didn't collapse into pillows, unable to stay up any longer.

The time seemed to mangle itself into nothing, and even though she was granted a clock, she couldn't help but think that it was a man-made construct, and vying for it, playing this wretched game to live for it was a prayer to something or someone that didn't exist.

The door creaked open, but this time she didn't close her eyes and feign breath. Twisted ideas raced in and out of her skull, desire and longing for human company, for vengeance or blood.  
Mostly though, she was sick of not being acknowledged, was sick of being a novelty; left alone when interest died down, and picked up and abused when he was bored.

She saw his leg first, unable to muster up the nerve to start directly at his face. Trailing the gaze up his thigh, past his waist, she was noticing his frame slightly thinner, noticing his chest respiring more heavily than it should be.

When she reached his soft lashes, the lips that always were angry, there was satisfaction to be had when the man standing was taken aback at her stare.

"You're awake."  
Concentrated on his tongue darting in ad out between pristine teeth, she watched the way words seemed to roll out of them with disdain.

He saw the hesitation grip her at the small observation, the way her palms tightened, the way she adjusted her nightgown, still fixated to his frame holding the paged rewards alongside the food she didn't want to eat.

"Yes."

There was nothing but a clink, metal and leather on vanity, and then he was gone again.  
Desolation grew in the pit of her stomach, despair with the promise that came with that closed door.

And then realization that she wished he'd come back in.

It happened every damn time.  
And when the lock came, a solitary tear ran down her cheek.

{}

There was nothing left to lose.

His father would be away from the manor, the Dark Lord was going for Eastern America. He requested to come along, anything to distract, but was denied. Somebody needed to stay here, and he was part of the family. His anchorage ensured that nobody could break in with all the magic from his lineage still in place on the house.

So he was there unaccompanied. But he wasn't alone.

This was an act he could get away with; he'd been relentlessly practicing his occlumency.  
And even if it wasn't, did he _really_ care?

Was it worth it to keep up this survival when the prize was servitude?

"_What are you doing here?"_

He was going to find out.

It was a valid question asked from his mudblood. It was after dinner for regular wizards.

He hadn't a clue on what her regular schedule was, if she had any at all, and saw she was wrapped in a bathrobe, standing beside the bed, hair sleek and glistening from the heat of the water. Looking positively ethereal in the candlelight.

"Checking on you."  
And he enclosed them in the chamber, which seemed to be shrinking in size every passing second.

If she had been in better spirits, she might've snorted. But the look in his normally steely eyes were softer; smoky; _unclear._

"I haven't stopped breathing yet. You can go."  
It wasn't sarcastic or mean; it was an admission that nearly broke her. And a request.

"Maybe I don't want to yet."

"Then what _do_ you want?"  
_What do you want from me? _She hoped to scream.

Arms were crossed for some kind of decency after tucking a stray hair behind her ear from nervous habit. She recalled being asked that very same thing the first day they were reunited, and truly did not wish to find out the reply.

And he didn't – at first – he slunk over to her wordlessly, until she could sense the warmness emanating from all around him.

"_Take it off." _The murmur sent shivers down her spine, which only elevated when he said it: "_Please._"

She couldn't move – couldn't speak.  
And when hands clutched at the white cloth, unfastened the tie under her breast, she was still too stunned to react. Left with a sliver of exposed skin, from her collar down to her navel, and even lower still, she was also left with a choice.

Stepping back only slightly, his gaze bore into hers; he was waiting.

"_What do you want, Malfoy?"_

Stuttering the repeat of her words, peeking up and down to try and read the language and message he intended to send, she was completely lost.

"_I want to try something."_

And when you are lost, you make rash decisions.  
She closed her eyes and sealed her fate:

"_Then try it."_

After a thousand tense moments, there were fingers gliding her cover off her shoulders. The air in the room became suddenly cold, and her trembling body was suddenly being held; tightly but not warmly.

It was tentative; he was frozen.

And though she was too at the odd intimacy engulfing her, she let instinct take the wheel. He was _touching _her, he was clearly scared even if he was blank. And now she joined him in his carelessness to the penalty of what sins they were committing. She pawed for any part of him to warm herself, causing a flinch when she grazed his back, under his blazer and over his shirt.

"_Caeruleum igne."_

She recalled that spell; her bluebell flames.  
He'd shot a ring of fire above the bed, immediately she felt herself heat up.

Pushing her away he spoke: "I'm going to put my wand on the dresser, Granger."

No threats. No warnings. Just action.  
The kindness frightened her.

And while she was rooted to the spot, he returned and traced her body with his palms, which alighted her in a way that hadn't been given in a long time.

Nobody caressed her, she was filthy after all, and the act was messing with her wits. It reminded her of Ron, it reminded her of everyone she'd ever loved, everyone she'd never see again.  
She knew he knew it. He had to know it.  
She could say 'stop it' at any time, and he would. And perhaps that fact is why she didn't say anything.  
Maybe it's why she could only stare at him and let escape sharp gasps when he was biting her nipple so gently, her hips being grasped and stroked with lazy thumbs.

Lowering onto the bed, he guided her in front of him, still standing. She opened her eyes and saw something in his– what, she couldn't tell – but the frown that was still etched there underneath confused her more.

"We shouldn't be doing this."  
An even tone after a muster of courage to speak.

Her resolve was still present even if it had been quieted; there existed no justification in sleeping with the enemy.  
But the enemy was wicked; he was at the same conclusion as she was, wasn't he?

Lust was growing with the mounting tension that lingered in the atmosphere. There was something about this girl, so damaged yet still alive. Even though she wished to be buried ten feet under she could still stay with her convictions, still somehow tell herself she was dying with dignity. He didn't know how she lasted so long. Though he felt like he could read the signs, he really didn't know anything about her.

And since he never cared for talking, there still happened to be another way to discover someone.

"_Maybe that's why I want to."_

Dipping his hand low, trailing it between her breasts, he reached the destination and felt his heart constrict when she was wet.

Sliding and stroking her legs slowly came apart, while the air left her lungs in rasps, while he could see her ribcage heaving. Trying to hush her satisfied whimpers.

While she could see his trousers threatening to rip in two, and his body shaking from the effort to keep control.

But the flicker of her gaze was something not missed, and before there was time to think, a feral groan was out of his mouth, and he was yanking her limbs overtop of him, urging her to his tongue so he could experience that taste again.

He was licking her relentlessly, very much unlike the last time. Still just as tormenting and wonderful, nonetheless.

Haze rushed through theirs heads, any thoughts left when animal desire takes over. There was no resistance, they were yielding to one another, getting lost in the gloom of each other's despair.

She wasn't committing to touching him back, instead playing a dangerous game of trying to balance while getting so close to climax. And when she hit it she fell back, beside him on the sheets, her arm grazing him where she shouldn't have, crying out an untempered moan.

Draco was so bothered by this scream, it shattered through the wall he tried to built and protect for so long; he had the ability to please someone because he wanted to.

Fumbling with his zipper, he had to nurse what was killing him, because he didn't know if she shared that ability too.

_"You're drunk again aren't you."  
_It was a statement, not a question, and he looked over to see her loathing herself again, though her body looked more relaxed than he'd ever seen it.

And it struck him as odd that she seemed to care whether or not he was sober, as if they were teenagers dating, as if somehow his decision to seek her out wasn't depraved.

"I'm not," he declared, stopping his pleasure, to watch her reaction when it was wholly sincere. "Nobody is in this place. Just you and me."

"_We're alone?"  
_Her expression was puzzled, seeking to find out of this was good or bad, if it meant he was afraid of getting caught or if he was seizing an opportunity.

"So very alone."

He couldn't take it anymore.  
He grabbed her by the thigh, beckoning her to sit astride him on his lap. Not wanting to plead at all, but the fraction his face let that emotion slip she caught it with surprise before it was stone again.

"Do you want to?"

The fact that _he_ wanted to was baffling, it was _wrong, so very wrong._

"_Why me?"  
_It was an imploration to the heavens, but directed to the man she was now sitting on.  
"_Why this?" _

_Why don't I just say 'no?'_  
If she went through with this, and she admitted she was so very aroused, he'd always have the upper hand. There would be no dignity to salvage, even if he went to seek her out. Because she loathed every fibre of his being, yet still was a slave to her desires, wanting to lower herself onto his cock.

"Why _not _this?"  
He was staring at her again, burning a hole in her heart and her soul.

"That's not a good answer."

"Haven't you realized Granger that we're both trapped? I'm stuck watching you, and one day I'll be doing something else, risking my life or following orders I don't want to take. And you have it much worse because of your blood, and you know how this is going to end, don't you? So why care about anything that happens at all? Why don't you just _fuck _me, and be smug with the idea that someone like me wants to."

His speech was harsh, the words were riddled with pent up frustration, with a burden and a surety that was all too familiar to her.

"I don't work that way, Malfoy. You shouldn't either. I know how this is going to end, haven't I told you I want to die? It doesn't mean I'm going to go out mindlessly. Maybe 'm still clinging onto the hope that I might get what I want by asking; but if you're going to hurt me, I'm going to react in that manner."

Sitting up again, inches from her face, he was angry now that they were even having a conversation. He was angry that she didn't cower this time.

"I work that way to stay alive. I don't care about my reputation, or my self-respect. And I'm mortal enough to admit to you that the last thing I want is to be six feet under, it means that I was too weak to survive!"

"That's not what it means! You'd sooner torment me, or someone else, and lay your bed by being despicable? That's not living at all, _is it_?"

Her final sentence was a low whisper, and he found he had a counter argument ready immediately.

"You think, in this world now, that there's any way to live? Enjoy your life? Look at what you had to do? For _values? _Are your values really worth dying for? Maybe if I lower myself to the levels of Auntie Bellatrix I can get something from this constant horrible atmosphere."

"_Why _are you even talking to me at all? Are you hoping I see this as vulnerability and a cry for help so I don't hate you as much? You paint yourself as this lost spirit seeking survival, like you don't care. But if you didn't you wouldn't give me a choice on whether or not to sleep with you. And coming here late is not part of your plan, so don't give me that."

Pushing her off of him, he stood up, sour. This wasn't going how he wanted it, he didn't want to have to think.  
And now that he was, he broke.

"I _don't_ care, Granger. I won't force myself on you because that doesn't turn me on. I want your consent, I want to give it to you and have you fucking _scream_. I want you to moan my name. And not bloody because I want to see you feel shameful, it's because I'm horny as fuck. It's not a part of the plan."

He was about to exit this confinement, grabbing his wand, when what she told him irked his whole being.

"Then why do you want _me_? Because I'm the only person you can get?"

"_If I so desired I'd go to a brothel_," he spat. "There are female Death Eaters, you know. I don't know why it's you. Maybe because you're forbidden, maybe because of the way you look."

Shock shook her to the core, and suddenly her skin was crawling, this game was getting too real.

"Yes, I don't think you're hideous, Granger. _You think_ _blood really matters to me? _I earned my way into the Dark Lord's good graces, and I don't feel any better. I only get satisfaction from bringing down people I hate a peg. And I don't hate you, I hate what you're doing to me. I'm not a good person, and I don't want to be. I don't talk to anybody except you, I'm just as lonely as you, and _you_? You're the only person that exists that I don't need to feel guarded around. And that makes no fucking sense."

"_What am I doing to you?"  
_On her knees, her body was glowing in the firelight. Hair was dangling low to her navel, hand fumbling with the ends. Deep bronze eyes wasted with this whole mess of an intrusion.

Creaking the door open, he wasn't going to dare watch her response.

"With all this trying, and all this evil I'm doing, having you here I can't justify the vices anymore. _You make me want to die._"

And before there was a moment to say 'wait', she was settled in silence when a slam resonated around her prison.

{}

_'You make me want to die.'_

_I make him want to die.  
Why?_

He hadn't been back in a week.  
She didn't know if he was still alone with her, and if he ever would talk again unless it was for her punishment, for his _job._

And she guessed she had never fully comprehended that that's what it was for him. She was his 'assignment', but it was unwilling. Whatever snapped inside of him all came centre stage that night, and she couldn't figure out if he stayed away because of his fury or because of his shame.

"Time for your evaluation, mudblood. Better get your knickers on."  
It was a blond, but it wasn't Draco.

It was Rowle, the man she'd memory modified. And even though he didn't know it was her who'd done it, he knew she was involved in him being cursed.

He barged into the her room, and was holding the key, soaked in red.  
Staying mute, unmoving, she pushed the covers off herself, wearing nightclothes, and waited for him to take her, as surely he wouldn't let her walk of her own accord.

Lifting her off the bed easily in his arms, his giant build overwhelming her, she shrunk in his grip, wondering why he came and not somebody else. Why she wasn't being blindfolded.

As they reached the exit, she caught sight of grey eyes, the expression just as dormant as hers. Right before a blindfold was secured so she was immersed in darkness.

"Thanks, Thorfinn," Malfoy uttered lifelessly, retrieving his key greedily and shutting the door.

"No problem, son. Maybe work a bit on your scrawny body and you can do it yourself one day, hm?" he jeered, neither causing a laugh or a frown. "Besides, haven't seen a lass in a long while. Feels kind of nice, even if it's a dirty mudblood?"

He grinned, roughly grabbed at her breast, and squeezed her so tightly as he intended to slide his thumb into her mouth. Struggling with difficulty, she slapped his hand away, biting it, barely hitting it with blind aim.

"_Don't."  
_She was surprised to hear the growl, and remained in her tense position as she sensed him lowering it.

"No fun, you are. She's not your property, is she?"

"She's in my care, and she shouldn't be hearing all the reasons why she can't be harmed. Now go, the Dark Lord's waiting."

Never had she heard him more authoritative, never had she heard such venom in the one word scolding he'd given his apparent subordinate.

After a long walk with echoing footsteps, the sound of the floor had changed, her vision was brighter in the black; they were outside. Disappearing into the sunlight, he dropped her to the floor.

Before he left, he hissed in her ear: _"Lad can't save you, I hope you know that miss. So whatever it is he's been telling you, don't trust it because eventually you're going to _die. _No matter what._"

It was meant as vengeance for him being told 'no', it was meant to scare her further.  
It only comforted her that it was coming soon.

"_Ah, _Rowle. Many thanks for delivering the mudblood. You may leave." There was a pop. "And now for you, Miss Granger."

Her mask was gone, and the serpentine man was here alone, Nagini in a coil under his throne in this cave of a palace.

"_Let's see how you're doing, hmm?"_


End file.
